SILVE 


NELLIE  K.BLISSLi'i1 


THE 

SILVER  KEY 

A  Romance  of  the  Days  of  Charles  II 
By 

NELLIE   K.  BLISSETT 

Author  of  "  The  Bindweed"  Etc. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  SMART  SET  PUBLISHING  CO. 

LONDON  AND  CHICAGO 

1906 


'THIS  new  copyright  story  by  NELLIE  K. 

BLISSETT   is  a  fascinating  historical 

romance,  the  scenes  of  which  are  laid  in 

England  and  in  France.    The  author  made 

her  name  with  "The  Bindweed,"  a  novel 

that  ranks  among  the  best  fiction  of  the  year. 

"The  Silver    Key"    is    published   at 

• 

THE  SMART  SET  PUB.  CO. 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
THE   SMART   SET   PUBLISHING   CO. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  "THE  DAY  OF  THE  DEAD"            .  .  .    '   I 

II.  I  SUP  WITH  THE  DEVIL      .           .  .  .15 

III.  THE  SILVER  KEY    .           .           .  .  .29 

IV.  THE  HUNTRESS  DIANA        .           .  .  .43 

V.  THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  GABRIELLE  .  .      5? 

VI.  THE  HOTEL  DE  CHEVRON              .  .  .75 
VII.  IN  QUEST  OF  ROBIN  CAREWE         .  .  .91 

VIII.  THE  BLACK  RIBBAND         .            .  .  .107 

IX.  SIR  THOMAS  COMES — AND  GOES    .  •  »    124 

X.  "  LA  BERGERE  D'ANGLETERRE  "    .  .  .    140 

XI.  A  RESCUE!              .           .           .  .  .158 

XII.  MILADY  Di  RETURNS  FROM  Exin  .  .    176 

XIII.  "THE  BEST  OF  BROTHERS"          .  .  .192 

XIV.  THE  KING'S  EVIDENCE      .           .  .  .207 
XV.  FAREWELL  TO  DOVER  I       .            .  .  .     223 

XVI.  THE  CHICORY  WATER       .           .  .  .238 

XVII.  THE  CLOSED  DOOR             .            .  .  .256 

XVIII.  THE  PRIVY  GARDEN  AT  HAMPTON  .  .    273 

XIX.  THE  SECRET  is  BROUGHT  TO  LIGHT  .  .  287 

XX.  THE  HEART  GATE  OF  HUNTINGFORD  .  .  305 


THE  SILVER   KEY 

CHAPTER   I 

"THE  DAY  OF  THE  DEAD" 

I  REMEMBER  it  as  well  as  yesterday — it  began 
so  innocently,  this  day  which  was  to  change 
my  life  for  me.  I  remember  riding  out  of 
Paris  under  a  yellow  sunset  sky  and  autumn 
leaves  that  fluttered  noiselessly  down  before 
my  horse's  very  nose.  I  remember  that  one 
struck  me  in  the  face,  and  I  shook  my  head  in 
brief,  almost  childish  annoyance.  Ah,  I  was 
unused  to  annoyance  then,  or  so  slight  a  thing 
would  not  have  disturbed  me. 

Indeed,  the  world,  up  to  that  day,  had  used 
me  well  enough.  Picture  me,  as  I  picture  my- 
self, when  I  look  back,  riding  out  of  Paris  on 
a  good  horse,  in  the  richest  of  riding-suits, 
(it  was  of  fine  sable  cloth,  I  recollect,  to  match 
the  sadness  of  the  day).  I  was  twenty- five 
years  old  that  summer,  of  birth  as  good  as 
most,  of  fortune  better  than  many.  I  had  no 
very  near  relations,  but  that  weighed  lightly 


2  THE    SILVER   KEY 

upon  my  mind,  for  no  man  misses  what  he  has 
never  known.  I  was  cheerful  in  disposition, 
and  strong  enough  to  make  my  way  in  a  fight, 
and  I  shouid  not  have  feared  to  meet  anyone 
with  a  rapier  in  my  hand.  All  my  life  I  had 
had  good  luck  at  the  cards,  good  luck  in  such 
quarrels  as  I  had  drawn  upon  myself,  which 
were  not  many.  As  for  the  other  sort  of  luck, 
which  men  say  never  goes  with  luck  at  cards — 
well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  had  never  seen  the 
woman  then  who  seemed  to  me  worth  a  hand- 
ful of  trumps.  I  did  not  care  a  louis  for  the 
prettiest  woman  in  all  France;  and  it  does  not 
hurt  my  vanity,  for  I  never  had  much,  to  swear 
that  there  was  no  one  who  cared  any  more  for 
me. 

So  I  present  myself  to  you  riding  out  of 
Paris  on  the  Jour  des  Morts,  1669;  a  favorite 
of  Fortune,  by  name  Herve-Richelieu  (after 
the  great  Cardinal,  whom  my  father  had  the 
honor  to  serve),  and  by  title  the  Marquis 
d'Oreville  and  Seigneur  de  Valais-Savary. 

It  was  for  Oreville  that  I  was  bound  that 
evening,  after  a  day  spent  much  in  my  own 
company,  of  which  I  had  not  at  that  time  had 


"THE   DAY   OF   THE    DEAD"      3 

enough  to  find  it  seriously  inconvenient. 
Oreville  is  no  more  than  an  evening's  ride 
from  Paris,  and  I  had  some  little  business  to 
transact  on  my  estate.  Fichet,  my  servant, 
and  my  father's  before  me,  rode  at  my  heels — 
a  little,  shrivelled  figure  of  a  man,  but  mar- 
vellously faithful  to  his  master.  We  spoke 
idly  of  the  changes  of  the  weather  as  we  went; 
and  so,  innocent  of  all  that  was  to  follow,  we 
rode  into  the  tiny  village  of  Chevron-Savary, 
and  dismounted  at  the  sign  of  the  Golden 
Horse  for  a  glass  of  wine. 

By  this  time  the  dusk  had  fallen,  and  in  the 
parlor  where  we  sat  it  was  almost  dark.  The 
girl  who  had  brought  the  wine  lingered,  it 
may  be  in  hope  of  a  fee ;  she  was  a  tall,  dark- 
faced  wench,  with  an  over-bold  manner  and 
an  over-loud  voice — at  least  for  my  taste.  She 
stood  in  the  doorway  with  her  arms  akimbo, 
and  the  light  without  made  a  shadow  of  her 
dark,  keen  face. 

Suddenly,  as  she  stood  there,  a  man  passed 
behind  her,  paused  for  a  second,  and  then, 
pushing  her  aside,  burst  in  upon  us  in  a  great 
flurry  of  ill-chosen  words,  with  a  great  show 


4  .THE   SILVER   KEY 

of  fury.  Heaven  knows  I  was  innocent  enough 
of  meddling  with  the  girl,  as  he  seemed  to 
imply  that  I  had  done.  He  was  half  drunk, 
and  I  had  no  wish  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  a 
man  in  his  condition;  but  when  he  lurched  up 
to  me,  and  struck  me  sharply  on  the  cheek,  I 
thought  the  game  was  going  too  far,  and  drew 
upon  him,  thinking  the  sight  of  cold  steel 
might  cool  his  heated  humor.  I  had  no 
intention  of  attacking  him  there  in  the  dark 
room,  for  indeed  there  was  not  light  enough 
for  sword-play;  but  at  the  sight  of  my  weapon 
he  whips  out  a  rapier  and  falls  upon  me  so 
shrewdly  that  I  have  to  use  my  own,  if  only 
in  self-defence. 

To  this  day  I  do  not  know  how  the  thing 
happened.  It  was  dark,  as  I  say,  and  the 
man's  attack  was  so  sudden  that  it  put  me  out. 
I  meant  to  parry  a  stroke  of  his  that  came  too 
near  me  for  comfort,  and  felt  the  whole  weight 
of  his  body  upon  my  blade.  With  a  sickening 
sort  of  gasp  he  went  backwards,  tearing  the 
blade  out  of  my  hand,  and  lay  on  the  floor  in 
a  limp,  helpless  heap,  while  I  stood  by,  too 
amazed  to  realize  what  I  had  done. 


"THE   DAY   OF   THE   DEAD"      $ 

The  girl  had  fled  at  a  hint  of  bloodshed, 
though  I  had  not  thought  her  so  mighty  thin- 
skinned  before.  Fichet,  with  a  cry,  came  to 
me,  and  knelt  down  by  the  fallen  man.  And 
then,  from  the  dim  doorway,  a  light  flashed 
upon  us,  and  a  figure  muffled  in  a  heavy  horse- 
man's cloak  came  softly  into  the  room. 

I  am  not  likely  to  forget  anything  that  hap- 
pened that  day;  least  of  all  am  I  likely  to  for- 
get the  face  which  the  lighted  taper  in  the 
new-comer's  hand  showed  me  so  clearly.  It 
was  a  thin,  nervous  face,  pale,  rather  delicate, 
and  extraordinarily  alive — I  can  find  no  other 
word  to  describe  a  look  to  which  mere  de- 
scription cannot  do  justice.  I  have  seen  that 
same  vivid  expression  on  other  faces,  both 
before  and  since  that  evening,  but  I  have  never 
seen  it  in  quite  the  same  degree.  It  was  the 
look  of  a  man  who,  himself  shut  out  in  the 
darkness,  unseen  and  unsuspected,  watches  in 
a  lighted  room  the  drama  which  decides  his 
life  or  death.  I  do  not  know  how  better  to 
express  myself;  the  look  has  haunted  me  to 
this  day. 

The   man   advanced   upon   us   softly   and 


6  THE   SILVER   KEY 

swiftly.  He  shut  the  door  as  he  came,  and 
then  bent  down  over  the  limp  figure  at  my 
feet,  and  set  the  taper  on  the  floor.  For  a 
moment  he  touched  my  assailant  here  and 
there  with  light,  rapid  fingers.  Then  he  lifted 
to  me  a  face  convulsed  with  a  strange  combi- 
nation of  rage  and  disappointment.  "  Dead!  " 
he  said,  with  a  kind  of  snarl  of  fury  in  the 
word,  though  he  spoke  scarce  above  his 
breath.  "  Dead  as  a  door-nail — curse  him! 
I  might  have  known  he  would  slip  through 
my  fingers  in  the  end."  The  words  were  so 
extraordinary,  the  state  of  mind  they  sug- 
gested was  so  unusual  in  one  who  presumably 
was  a  friend  of  the  dead  man,  that  for  a  mo- 
ment I  stared  at  him  in  silence.  He  took  the 
taper  from  the  floor  and  stood  up,  looking  at 
me  with  haggard,  burning  eyes,  and  an  ex- 
pression of  the  liveliest  resentment. 

"  I  might  have  expected  it,"  he  said,  in  the 
same  low  tone  of  intense  bitterness.  "  It  is 
always  the  same  story — Fortune  herself  has  a 
grudge  against  me,  the  ill-tempered  jade! 
Here — at  the  top  of  my  hopes — just  within 
sight  of  success — everything  is  ruined  again. 


"THE  DAY   OF   THE   DEAD"      7 

rA.  man  I  have  never  seen — a  passer-by — a 
stranger — you,  monsieur," — I  can  hear  still 
the  passion  which  he  threw  into  the  little  un- 
important word,  making  it  sound  like  an  accu- 
sation,— "you,  whose  very  name  I  do  not 
know,  are  sent  to  thwart  me." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  fell  into  a 
bitter  reverie,  standing  there  before  me  with 
the  flickering  taper  in  his  hand  and  the  dead 
man  at  his  feet.  The  strange  thing  about  his 
speech  was  that,  though  he  seemed  to  resent 
his  friend's  mishap  so  fiercely,  there  was  in 
his  resentment  no  touch  of  personal  sorrow, 
but  rather  a  blind  rage  as  against  someone 
who  had  cheated  him,  who  had  had  a  part  to 
play  for  him,  and  had  failed  him  at  the  last 
moment,  as  he  had  said.  It  was  plain  that  he 
and  his  dead  companion  had  been  bound  upon 
some  eventful  and  perhaps  desperate  errand, 
upon  which  the  fortune  of  one,  or  even  both, 
would  seem  to  have  depended. 

He  roused  himself  from  his  dream  with  a 
start  and  a  shrug. 

c  Well,  it  is  over,"  he  said,  in  a  cooler  tone. 
"  No  use  to  cry  over  spilt  milk,  I  suppose. 


8  THE   SILVER    KEY 

And  you,  monsieur — what  do  you  propose 
to  do?" 

Something  in  his  look  stung  me. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  is  any  business  of 
yours,"  I  answered  curtly.  For  reply,  he  put 
the  taper  on  the  table,  and  then  sat  down  be- 
side it,  swinging  one  rather  muddy  boot,  and 
staring  me  out  of  countenance  with  the  oddest 
and  worst-matched  pair  of  eyes  I  have  ever 
seen.  But  fo.r  his  eyes  he  might  have  been 
well-looking  enough.  Both  were  of  a  greyish 
color,  it  is  true,  but  one  was  lighter  than  the 
other,  and  they  seemed  to  be  set  in  his  head 
in  two  different  ways.  Their  whole  effect, 
their  steely  color,  the  unpleasant  variety  of 
their  shades,  lent  something  unspeakably  sin- 
ister and  unattractive  to  their  owner's  face. 

"  Oh,  so  it  is  no  business  of  mine,  is  it?  "  he 
said.  "  I  take  the  liberty  of  disagreeing  with 
you,  monsieur.  I  imagine  it  is  very  much  my 
business.  .  .  .  Here,  send  this  man  of  yours 
away — I  must  have  a  moment  with  you  alone." 

I  bade  Fichet  leave  us — after  all,  I  owed 
some  sort  of  reparation  to  one  whose  affairs 
had  evidently  suffered  some  serious  derange- 


"THE   DAY   OF   THE    DEAD"      9 

ment  through  a  quarrel  which  had  been  thrust 
upon  me,  and  in  which  I  had,  however  acci- 
dentally, played  the  better  part. 

"  You  must  be  aware,"  I  said,  as  the  door 
closed  upon  Fichet,  "  that  your  friend,  mon- 
sieur, was  in  no  reasonable  frame  of  mind. 
He  attacked  me  so  suddenly  that  I  was  forced 
to  defend  myself.  His  death  was  an  accident 
for  which  I  do  not  hold  myself  responsible." 

Again  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Yet  men  have  gone  to  the  galleys  for  less." 

I  started  a  little. 

"Are  you  threatening  me,  monsieur?" 

He  looked  down  at  the  muddy  toes  of  his 
riding-boots  with  a  reflective  air. 

"  You  have  put  me  to  the  most  cursed  in- 
convenience," he  answered,  in  a  more  civil 
tone.  "  When  you  take  a  bone  away  from* 
a  hungry  dog,  I  think  you  can  hardly  wonder 
that  the  dog  snaps  at  your  heels — eh,monsieur? 
Well,  you  have  taken  my  bone,  and  I  am  re- 
lieving my  feelings  by  a  snarl  or  two.  We  will 
not  talk  about  threats.  Nevertheless,  I  could 
send  you  to  the  galleys,  as  I  suppose  you 
know." 


io  THE    SILVER   KEY 

"  There  is  my  servant's  evidence  to  be 
reckoned  with,  monsieur — he  would  bear  wit- 
ness that  the  quarrel  was  none  of  my  making." 

He  gave  a  sudden  little  laugh. 

"  Your  servant!  Do  you  think  the  evidence 
of  a  servant  would  be  believed?  We  all  know 
that  servants  are — paid,  monsieur  1" 

I  looked  steadily  at  his  downcast  face. 

"  In  a  word,  monsieur — you  do  threaten 
me?  Let  us  speak  plainly,  if  you  please." 

He  lifted  his  odd  eyes  slowly,  with  a  kind 
of  malicious  deliberation. 

"  Very  well — as  you  wish  it — I  do  threaten 
you." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  could  do  me  much 
harm,  but  you  could  most  likely  put  me  to  a 
good  deal  of  inconvenience.  It  might  suit  me 
better  to  meet  you.  I  suppose  you  want 
money." 

An  unpleasant  smile  flickered  for  a  second 
over  his  face. 

"  I  perceive  that  you  have  sense,  monsieur. 
Yes,  I  want  money — but  not  yours.  I  want 
something  that  you  cannot  possibly  give  me. 


"THE   DAY   OF   THE   DEAD"    n 

His  eyes  fell  agam  to  the  man  lying  at  his 
feet,  and,  with  a  hideous,  strangled  curse,  he 
leaned  forward  and  stirred  the  dead  thing 
with  the  toe  of  his  riding-boot. 

"  You  might  have  given  it  to  me,  fool !  "  he 
said.  "  But  no — you  were  always  a  clumsy 
bungler,  and  you  have  bungled  again,  as  I 
should  have  known  you  would  do." 

There  was  something  so  brutal,  so  inexpress- 
ibly inhuman,  in  this  callous  mishandling  of 
a  dead  man,  that  I  sprang  forward,  and  pulled 
the  limp  figure  out  of  the  reach  of  his  com- 
panion's foot. 

"  Be  good  enough  to  confine  your  remarks 
to  the  living,"  I  said,  with  some  sternness. 
"  Abuse  me,  if  you  choose,  monsieur,  but 
leave  the  dead  alone." 

I  can  see  the  scene  now — the  slight  figure 
in  the  heavy  cloak  seated  on  the  table,  the  pale 
face  and  ill-matched  eyes  lighted  by  the  un- 
certain glimmer  of  the  one  poor  taper,  the 
half-smile,  half-sneer  upon  the  thin  lips.  Sud- 
denly, as  he  looked  at  me,  kneeling  beside 
the  man  whom  I  had  slain,  his  expression 
changed,  he  leaned  forward  quickly,  a  gleam 


12 

of  something  like  hope  showed  in  the  reckless 
anger  of  his  eyes. 

"  Why  not?  "  he  said,  as  though  to  himself. 
"Why  not?" 

Then  in  a  moment  he  had  slipped  down 
from  the  table,  and  was  standing  over  me, 
surveying  me  with  almost  feverish  scrutiny. 

"Why  not?"  he  said  again;  and  then 
changed  his  tone.  "  No — I  do  not  want 
money,"  he  went  on.  "  I  do  not  want  money — 
I  will  spirit  the  evidence  of  your  excellent 
swordsmanship  away,  as  though  he  had  never 
been — and  all  for  nothing,  monsieur — for 
nothing!  What  do  you  think  of  that?  I  will 
not  snarl  at  you  any  more — come,  we  will  be 
the  best  of  friends.  It  is  no  more  to  my  inter- 
est than  yours  that  my  friend  should  be  found 
here  in  this  sad  condition.  I  have  a  coach 
waiting.  One  moment — I  will  call  my 
people." 

He  slipped  out  of  the  room,  leaving  me 
alone  with  the  dead  man,  whom,  for  the  first 
time,  I  took  occasion  to  examine  a  little  more 
closely.  He  was  of  about  my  own  age,  I 
should  say,  and  near  my  own  height  and  size. 


'THE   DAY   OF   THE   DEAD"    13 

Handsomer  than  I  shall  ever  be,  certainly, 
with  a  fair,  reckless  face  which  kept,  even  in 
death,  some  part  of  the  expression  it  had  worn 
in  life. 

He  was  well  dressed;  a  fair  periwig  cov- 
ered his  own  hair,  so  that  I  could  not  see 
its  color,  and  from  his  wrist  hung  a  little  vel- 
vet mask,  such  as  men  often  use  when  on  an 
errand  upon  which  they  would  not  be  known. 
A  gentleman,  in  short,  though  perhaps  one 
whose  path  had  lain  in  curious  ways. 

After  a  moment  or  two  the  door  opened 
once  more  and  the  other  man  returned,  fol- 
lowed by  a  couple  of  lackeys  in  rather  shabby 
liveries.  They  lifted  the  dead  man  between 
them,  and  supported  rather  than  carried  him 
out  of  the  little  parlor  and  along  the  passage 
to  the  door  of  the  Golden  Horse.  In  the 
gloom  which  had  fallen  upon  all  things  the 
little  procession  had  less  the  air  of  a  funeral 
escort  than  of  a  convivial  party  bearing  away 
the  vanquished  from  the  peaceful  lists  of 
Bacchus.  Probably  this  was  the  appearance 
which  the  dead  man's  companion  desired,  for 
he  turned  to  me  with  his  odd,  unpleasant  smile 


14  THE    SILVER    KEY 

as  the  door  of  the  Golden  Horse  closed  upon 
his  servants  and  their  burden. 

"The  galleys  recede  into  the  distance,"  he 
said. 

The  familiarity  of  his  tone,  as  with  one 
whom  he  had  bought  by  a  service,  did  not  suit 
my  humour. 

"And  your  price,  monsieur?"  I  asked 
stiffly. 

The  sinister  light  came  into  his  eyes  as  he 
looked  at  me. 

"  My  price,"  he  said  very  softly,  "  is  that 
you  should  spend  the  night  here,  and  take 
supper  with  me,  monsieur." 

"  And  if  I  do  not  care  to  do  that?  " 

"  I  think  you  will  care,"  he  answered  sig- 
nificantly. "  The  galleys,  as  you  are  aware, 
have  not  receded  so  far  but  that  a  signal  might 
bring  them  back.  And — after  all — what  is 
a  supper,  monsieur?  " 

What  was  it,  after  all? 

"  Very  well,  I  will  sup  with  you,"  I  said. 


CHAPTER  II 

I   SUP   WITH    THE  DEVIE 

WE  sat  down  to  supper  in  the  room  in  which1 
the  unknown  man  had  fallen  upon  me,  and  the 
circumstance  in  itself  seemed  to  me  to  mark, 
even  more  sharply  than  before,  the  utter  cal- 
lousness of  my  companion's  feelings  towards 
his  unfortunate  friend,  or,  at  least,  fellow- 
traveller.  And  yet  it  was  obvious  from  his 
manner,  from  every  look  which  he  gave  me 
from  those  unattractive  eyes  of  his,  that  the 
other's  death  had  interfered  seriously  with  his 
plans.  I  confess  to  a  natural  curiosity  as  to 
the  connection  between  the  two,  which  so  oc- 
cupied my  fancy  that  only  when  the  supper — 
brought  by  the  girl  who  had  been,  indirectly, 
the  cause  of  the  whole  affair — stood  on  the 
table  did  I  recollect  that  I  was  ignorant  of 
the  very  name  of  the  man  with  whom  I  was 
about  to  break  bread. 

I  said  as  much  to  him,   and  he  laughed 
shortly. 


16  THE    SILVER    KEY 

"  One  name  is  as  good  as  another,"  he  said. 
"  Call  me  anything  that  pleases  your  fancy — 
it  will  be  all  one  to  me." 

"  It  will  hardly  be  all  one  to  me,  however," 
I  answered  a  trifle  suspiciously.  "  I  am  afraid 
I  must  ask  you  to  be  more  precise." 

He  gave  a  shrug  which  expressed  un- 
disguised contempt  for  my  conventional 
scruples. 

"  Oh,  anything  to  oblige  you,  monsieur," 
he  said  airily.  "  Some  of  my  friends  call  me 
the  Chevalier  du  Bac." 

"  And  I " 

"  Pray  do  not  trouble  yourself  to  give  me  a 
name,"  he  responded,  not  without  a  touch  of 
irony.  "  I  have  no  need  of  any  credentials  in 
your  case.  I  do  not  want  to  know  who  you 
are,  and  I  shall  be  grateful  if  you  will  not 
insist  on  forcing  the  knowledge  upon  me.  Let 
us  proceed  to  business,  monsieur." 

The  supper,  I  am  bound  to  admit,  was  ex- 
cellent, whatever  the  company  in  which  it  was 
to  be  eaten.  The  Chevalier  du  Bac,  as  I  must 
call  him  here,  though,  as  I  afterwards  dis- 
covered, it  was  not  his  real  name,  did  less  jus- 


I    SUP   WITH   THE   DEVIL        17 

tice  to  it  than  I  did.  He  spoke  with  little 
interest  of  the  badness  of  the  roads  after  the 
recent  heavy  rains,  and  similar  subjects  of  a 
like  importance;  but  all  the  time  I  had  a  secret 
impression  that  his  desire  to  sup  with  me  had 
some  very  different  object  than  a  mere  idle 
wish  for  my  society.  Once  or  twice  I  caught 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  me  with  the  same  unpleas- 
ant scrutiny  which  had  shown  in  them  when 
he  had  slipped  down  from  the  table  and  sur- 
veyed me  with  such  sudden  eagerness  as  I 
knelt  by  the  dead  man's  side.  It  seemed  as 
though  he  weighed  me  in  his  mind — as  though 
he  sought  to  read  something  in  my  face  which 
would  show  me  suitable  for  some  purpose  of 
his  own. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  and  we  lingered 
over  our  wine,  he  suddenly  lifted  his  head  and 
fixed  me  again  with  a  glance  which  made  me 
not  a  little  uncomfortable. 

"I  suppose  you  take  no  interest  in  al- 
chemy? "  he  said. 

I  did  not,  for  I  had  had  at  least  one  friend 
who  had  ruined  himself  and  ended  his  life  in 
a  fit  of  madness  because  of  the  failure  of  his 


i8  THE    SILVER   KEY 

essays  in  that  mysterious  science.  The  Chev- 
alier heard  my  denial  in  silence. 

"  Many  think  as  you  do,"  he  said.  "  They 
are  ignorant  and  uninstructed — some  day  they 
will  know  better.  You  are  a  singularly 
strong-minded  person,  evidently.  I  suppose 
you  believe  in  no  occult  arts,  then?  " 

"  I  neither  believe  nor  disbelieve — I  do  not 
meddle  with  them." 

"Indeed!"  he  said,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  Not  even  with  so  small  and  simple  an  affair 
as  fortune-telling,  for  instance?" 

"Perhaps  you  are  a  fortune-teller,  mon- 
sieur? " 

"  Oh,  I  told  you  that  you  were  strong- 
minded!  What  a  contemptuous  tone!  Well, 
and  if  I  were  a  fortune-teller?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  that  you  could  tell  my 
fortune." 

He  laughed. 

"  You  tempt  me  to  challenge  you,  monsieur. 
Come,  let  us  make  a  bargain.  I  will  tell  your 
fortune,  and,  if  it  comes  true,  you  shall  pledge 
yourself  to  believe  in  fortune-telling  for  the 
rest  of  your  life," 


I    SUP   WITH  THE   DEVIL        19 

He  was  so  clearly  in  earnest  that  I  was 
amused,  almost  against  my  will.  He  was  the 
last  person  in  the  world  whom  I  should  have 
credited  with  a  belief  in  such  follies. 

"  //  you  tell  my  fortune,  monsieur,  and  if  it 
should  come  true,  I  will  certainly  pledge  my- 
self to  think  better  of  fortune-telling  than  I 
have  done  hitherto." 

"That  is  a  compact,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  Well,  monsieur,  I  will  do  my  best." 

As  he  spoke  a  little  whining  and  scratching 
noise  at  the  door  arrested  my  attention.  M.y. 
companion  heard  it  too,  and,  rising  quickly 
from  his  chair,  opened  the  door  to  admit  the 
entrance  of  a  very  small  and  exceedingly  beau- 
tiful liver-and-white  spaniel,  which  leaped 
upon  him  and  licked  his  hand  with  every 
appearance  of  pleasure  and  affection.  The 
Chevalier  returned  his  favorite's  caresses 
kindly,  and,  lifting  her  in  his  arms,  placed  her 
on  the  corner  of  the  supper-treble. 

"  Minette  and  I  will  tell  your  fortune,"  he 
said. 

He  drew  from  his  breast  a  small  object,  not 
unlike  a  lump  of  rough  glass,  and,  making  a 


S£0  THE    SILVER    KEY 

£«culiar  sign  to  the  spaniel,  placed  it  upon 
?>er  head.  The  dog  sat  immovable  before 
him,  and  by  not  so  much  as  an  incautious 
breath  disturbed  the  balance  of  the  crystal. 
The  Chevalier  gazed  fixedly  for  a  few  minutes 
4t  the  small  round  thing.  Presently  he  uttered 
tsn  exclamation  of  astonishment.  Then  he  re- 
sumed his  study  of  the  crystal.  He  appeared 
to  see  something  much  more  interesting  than 
the  little  rough  object  before  him,  and  from 
time  to  time  uttered  stifled  exclamations  of 
surprise  which  had,  at  any  rate,  the  merit  of 
sounding  quite  natural  and  spontaneous.  At 
last  he  made  another  curious  sign,  removed 
the  crystal  from  the  dog's  head,  and  returned 
it  to  the  place  from  which  he  had  taken  it. 

"Well,  monsieur,  you  have  a  startling  fu- 
ture," he  said,  turning  to  me. 

I  did  not  then,  and  I  do  not  now,  place  the; 
slightest  belief  in  the  man's  occult  powers;  but; 
I  saw  that  it  would  be  best  to  humor  him. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  tell  me  what  it  is." 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly,  as  though  to  test 
my  earnestness. 

"  Perhaps,  before  I  do  so,  you  will  permit 


I    SUP   WITH   THE   DEVIU       21 

me  to  ask  a  question.  You  are  at  the  present 
moment  under  no  engagement  of  marriage?  " 

I  could  have  laughed  in  the  man's  face. 
Here  was  the  eternal,  and — in  my  case,  at 
least — most  stale  and  unprofitable  promise  of 
a  rich  and  beautiful  wife  I 

"  I  have  no  contract  of  the  sort  upon  my 
mind." 

"  Yet  within  twelve  hours,"  he  said,  with 
impressive  solemnity,  "you  will  find  yourself 
united  to  a  lady  whose  face  you  have  never 
seen  before — of  whose  very  existence  you  are 
probably  ignorant  now." 

It  was  useless — I  could  not  quite  control 
my  merriment. 

"  I  will  remember  you,  M.  le  Chevalier, 
when  I  stand  at  the  altar." 

A  peculiar  and  not  particularly  genial  smite 
crossed  his  face. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  will — remember 
me,"  he  said  dryly.  "  Of  course  you  do  no1 
believe  what  I  say,  though  I  think  you  will 
admit  that  I  can  have  no  reason  for  deceiving 
you.  Come,  monsieur;  what  if  I  show  you  the 
scene — will  you  believe  me  then?  *' 


22  THE    SILVER    KEY 

"  I  will  believe  you  if  you  can  do  anything 
so  unlikely;  but  you  cannot." 

"We  will  see,"  he  answered  quietly. 

I  confess  that  his  manner  of  taking  my  dis- 
belief surprised  me.  I  had  expected  an  out- 
burst of  some  sort,  but  his  tone  was  perfectly 
cool.  He  took  from  his  pocket  a  little  silver, 
stoppered  box,  not  unlike  a  snuff-box  in  ap- 
pearance, and  proceeded  to  unscrew  the  lid. 
From  this  little  box  he  poured  into  an  empty 
dish  before  him  a  quantity  of  greyish-colored 
powder,  which  he  piled  with  the  tip  of  his 
finger  into  a  small  heap  in-  the  middle  of  the 
dish.  Then  he  took  out  a  tinder-box  and  set 
fire  to  the  little  heap  of  powder.  It  burned 
up  at  once,  sending  out  a  cloud  of  reddish 
smoke  which  filled  the  room  with  a  pleasant, 
aromatic  odor.  I  sat  silent  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  table,  and  watched  the  operation 
with  a  sceptical  eye.  The  smoke  became  every 
moment  thicker,  and  the  aromatic  odor  grew 
so  strong  that  it  affected  my  head  with  a  sort 
of  dizziness.  I  felt  vaguely  uneasy.  Through 
the  smoke  I  saw  the  odd,  bright  eyes  of  this 
mysterious  Chevalier  du  Bac  watching  me 


I    SUP   WITH  THE  DEVIL       23 

with  a  malicious  amusement  which  he  was  at 
no  pains  to  conceal. 

I  think  I  tried  to  rise  from  my  chair,  but  of 
this  I  have  no  very  clear  recollection.  I  am 
sure  I  tried  to  speak,  but,  for  some  reason,  no 
words  would  come.  The  smoke  thickened  un- 
til even  the  dim  figure  of  the  Chevalier  van- 
ished; my  last  conscious  remembrance  of  that 
extraordinary  and  humiliating  scene  is  of  fall- 
ing forward  across  the  table,  and  of  hearing, 
as  I  fell,  a  faint,  mocking  laugh  from  the 
Chevalier  du  Bac. 

Now  I  do  not,  as  I  have  said,  believe  in  the 
occult  powers  of  this  man;  but  without  doubt 
he  had  gifts  unknown  to  most  people,  as  I  was 
to  discover  for  myself  ere  long.  Certainly  he 
had  that  night  a  very  wonderful  influence 
over  me,  which  some  may  ascribe  to  witch- 
craft, if  they  will.  What  his  power  was  I  do 
not  pretend  to  judge — I  can  only  speak  of  my 
own  experiences ;  and  they  were  as  follows : 

I  think  the  smoke  stupefied  me  at  first,  but 
for  how  great  a  length  of  time  I  cannot  tell. 
I  seemed  enveloped  in  rolling  clouds,  in  thick, 
aromatic  mists  which  clung  to  me  like  some- 


24  THE   SILVER    KEY 

thing  alive.  I  was  not  conscious  of  any  par- 
ticular discomfort,  I  felt  incapable  of  any  sort 
of  reflection — even  the  uneasiness  which  I  had 
experienced  as  the  first  fumes  of  the  smoke 
began  to  take  effect  had  very  soon  passed 
away.  Presently  this  torpid  condition  also 
changed.  I  was  conscious  of  movement,  of 
the  sound  of  wheels,  of  horses  galloping  at  a 
break-neck  speed  through  the  night.  I  was  in 
a  coach,  but  whether  alone  or  not  I  was  not 
sure.  It  seemed  to  me  that  some  unseen  yet 
powerful  Presence  was  at  my  side — some  liv- 
ing but  impalpable  thing  which  in  some 
strange  way  directed  my  actions,  so  that  I  my- 
self had  nothing  to  do  with  anything  I  did. 
The  sound  of  wheels,  of  galloping  horses, 
lulled  me  into  a  comfortable  kind  of  dream.  I 
was  as  a  man  wearied  out,  both  physically  and 
mentally,  who  goes  through  an  appointed  task 
mechanically,  almost  without  realizing  what 
it  is  he  does.  Presently  the  horses  stopped, 
the  wheels  ceased  to  revolve.  I  suppose 
I  must  have  left  the  coach,  though  the  actual 
fact  of  leaving  it  seemed  to  have  escaped  my 
memory.  I  was  in  a  small  chapel,  very  dimly 


I    SUP   WITH   THE   DEVIL       25 

lighted,  in  which  three  distinct  figures  seemed 
to  be  waiting  for  me — an  old  priest,  whose 
sightless  eyes  rested  with  a  vacant  expression 
upon  me,  and  two  women,  one  shorter  than  the 
other,  and  both  dressed  in  black,  and  very 
closely  veiled.  I  myself  was  habited  in  the 
same  mournful  color,  and  I  remember  that 
I  must  have  been  masked,  for  I  had  to  peer 
through  the  narrow  eye-holes  of  a  mask  in 
order  to  make  out  the  waiting  figures  more 
clearly.  I  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  relief 
which  seemed  to  lessen  the  tense  expectation 
of  the  three  people,  or  shadows,  which  waited 
for  me.  The  taller  of  the  two  women  moved 
forward  to  meet  me  as  I  came  up  the  nave  ofi 
the  chapel. 

My  next  recollection  is  of  kneeling  Hefore 
the  priest,  of  words  which  I  did  not  seem  to 
understand,  but  to  which  I  made  answer  me- 
chanically, and  presumably  correctly,  for 
there  seemed  to  be  no  hitch  in  the  proceedings. 
I  was  borne  up  all  through  this  strange  cere- 
mony by  that  same  sense  of  a  Presence  which 
directed  my  actions  which  I  had  felt  in  the 
coach.  I  answered  mechanically,  I  moved 


26  THE   SILVER   KEY 

mechanically,  I  felt  no  wonder  at  the  odd  part 
I  was  playing.  It  was  all  very  like  a  dream, 
in  which  the  most  extraordinary  events  move 
one  no  more  than  the  usual  routine  of  every- 
day life. 

The  ceremony  over,  I  have  a  hazy  recollec- 
tion of  signing  some  paper,  though  with  what 
name  I  could  not  tell — it  was  not  my  own.  I 
moved  down  the  nave  into  the  porch,  and  be- 
side me  walked  the  taller  of  the  two  women. 
I  suppose  we  went  into  the  porch,  for  I  felt 
the  cool  night  air  blowing  upon  my  face  even 
in  the  dream.  There  were  wheels  again — I 
think  the  horses  shied  at  our  dark  figures  in 
the  porch. 

The  woman  stood  beside  me,  and  something 
made  me  turn  and  look  at  her,  but  I  could  not 
see  her  face  behind  the  thick  black  veil  which 
floated  almost  to  her  feet.  As  we  stood  there 
she  put  her  hand  on  mine.  Some  impulse  out- 
side myself  made  me  put  my  arm  round  her. 
A  cloud  had  come  before  the  faint  moon  which 
sailed  high  above  us,  and  the  porch  was  in 
darkness.  I  felt  rather  than  saw  the  gesture 
with  which  she  flung  back  the  veil  and  lifted 


I   SUP  WITH   THE   DEVIL      27 

her  face  to  mine.  I  kissed  her,  and,  for  an  in- 
stant, the  strange,  mechanical  calm  which  had 
held  me  so  far  changed  miraculously  at  the 
touch  of  this  unknown  woman's  lips.  For  just 
that  moment,  during  the  whole  affair,  I  became 
suddenly,  passionately  alive.  Then  .  .  . 
I  was  in  the  coach,  alone,  save  for  the  mysteri- 
ous Presence  which  had  been  with  me  all  the 
time,  except  for  that  one  brief  second  in  the 
chapel  porch.  The  wheels  were  making  a 
monotonous,  rumbling  -sound,  I  heard  the 
thud-thud-thud  of  the  horses,  galloping 
through  the  night.  Then  even  that  ceased. 
A  thick  smoke,  fragrant  and  stifling,  seemed 
to  fill  the  coach,  and  I  knew  no  more.  .  .  . 

When  I  came  to  myself  daylight  was  peer- 
ing coldly  into  the  room.  I  lifted  my  aching 
head,  and  stared  about  me  in  amazement. 
There  was  the  deserted  supper-table,  which 
had  been  my  pillow.  There  was  the  dish  in 
which  the  Chevalier  had  poured  the  powder 
— a  little  heap  of  grey  ashes  lay  in  it  still.  The 
Chevalier  and  his  liver-and-white  spaniel  had 
vanished. 

Very  slowly  and  uncertainly  I  got  upon  my 


?.8  THE   JVILVER 

;eet,  went  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open, 
called  for  the  landlord  but  he  did  not  appear. 
At  last  the  black-haired  girl  who  had  served 
supper  came  down  the  stairs  with  a  lagging 
step,  yawning  ostentatiously  as  she  came,  and 
twisting  her  long  elf-locks,  as  though  dis- 
turbed at  her  toilette. 

The  Chevalier?  she  said,  with  mucH  stu- 
pidity, in  answer  to  my  inquiries.  She  knew 
of  no  Chevalier.  The  gentleman  who  had 
supped  with  monsieur  was  gone.  He  had  said 
that  monsieur  would  pay  the  reckoning.  .  .  . 
My  servant?  Oh,  monsieur's  servant  was  in 
the  barn.  Probably  he  was  not  awake — she 
would  see. 

She  went,  with  an  irritating  leisureliness. 
Five  minutes  later  a  shriek  from  the  yard  sent 
me  flying  after  her  as  quickly  as  my  still  reel- 
ing head  would  permit.  She  was  standing  at 
the  door  of  the  barn,  and  just  inside  it  lay  my 
poor  faithful  Fichet,  dead,  with  no  mark  of 
violence  on  his  body,  but  with  an  awful  ex- 
pression of  pain  and  terror  engraved  upon  his 
face. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  SILVER  KEY 

THAT  was  a  gloomy  home-coming  to  Oreville. 
Poor  Fichet  had  been  so  long  in  my  service 
that  he  had  become  something  more  than  a 
lackey  who  ministers  to  one's  comfort,  and  for 
whom  one  has  but  a  selfish  regard.  It  was  his 
hand  which  had  held  me  on  my  first  pony, 
and  put  the  first  blunted  foil  into  my  clumsy, 
boyish  fingers.  The  old  man  had  grown  to 
be  more  a  part  of  my  existence  than  many 
friends  in  a  higher  path  in  life,  and,  Heaven 
knows,  it  hurt  me  more  to  lose  him,  especially 
in  such  a  sudden  and  horribly  mysterious 
fashion,  than  it  might  have  hurt  me  to  part 
from  anyone  else  of  my  acquaintance.  The 
mystery  of  his  death  added  a  keener  pang  to 
my  sorrow,  for  I  felt  that  his  end  had  come 
to  him  because  he  was  in  my  service,  and  not 
for  any  personal  quality  of  his  own.  Nay,  the 

more  I  considered  the  matter,  the  more  sure 

29 


30  THE   SILVER   KEY 

I  felt  that  he  had  been  done  away  with  for 
the  simple  reason  that  he  had  been  the  only 
witness  of  my  innocence  in  the  affair  which 
had  been  drawn  upon  me  by  the  man  whom 
I  had  killed.  It  had  not  suited  the  Chevaliei 
du  Bac,  as  he  called  himself,  that  I  should 
have  any  testimony  available  to  prove  that 
my  assailant  had  been  the  aggressor.  There- 
fore he  had  removed  Fichet,  with  as  little 
compunction  as  he  would  have  stepped  upon 
a  worm  that  happened  to  be  in  his  way.  The 
chances  were  that  I  should  never  find  the  mur- 
derer, or  be  able  to  prove  the  murder  against 
him,  if  I  did.  He  had  vanished  into  the  night 
as  suddenly  as  he  had  emerged  from  it,  leav- 
ing me  the  poorer  by  the  loss  of  a  good  friend, 
and  the  richer  by  an  extraordinary  experience 
which  I  could  not  call  pleasant. 

For  when  I  carru  to  myself,  and,  after  the 
first  shock  of  pooi  Fichet's  death,  set  my  mud- 
dled brains  to  work  over  the  matter,  I  really 
could  not  decide  whether  the  thing  could  have 
been  helped.  The  Chevalier  had  planned 
some  vill'iny  at  the  instant  when  he  had 
slipped  '  the  table  with  that  sudden  "Why 


THE   SILVER   KEY  31 

not?  "  which  had  seemed  to  me  to  have  a  sound 
of  hope  in  the  midst  of  his  apparent  dismay 
and  despair.  He  had  known  his  power,  and 
known,  too,  that  I  was  a  fitting  tool  by  which 
he  might  hope  to  achieve  his  end.  Only  what 
that  end  could  be  I  could  not  imagine,  how- 
ever long  and  sorely  I  racked  my  brains  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  solve  the  problem.  Surely 
his  object  could  not  have  been  merely  to  make 
a  fool  of  a  man  whom  he  had  never  seen  be- 
fore? No — it  was  something  more  than  that, 
I  felt  convinced.  He  had  had  a  purpose 
which  I  could  serve,  and  he  had  made  me 
serve  it;  but  how — how?  The  thing  worried 
me  inconceivably.  I  could  not  sleep  for 
thinking  of  it;  it  got  hold  of  me  in  a  way  that 
made  me  almost  fear  for  my  reason.  To  be 
possessed  by  one  idea  is  surely  a  kind  of  mad- 
ness; to  be  possessed  by  a  question  to  which 
one  can  find  no  sort  of  answer  seemed  to  me, 
at  the  moment,  a  very  positive  variety  of  in- 
sanity indeed. 

For  a  day  or  two  I  remained  at  Oreville, 
thinking  the  matter  over.  I  think  I  had  been 
there  three  days  or  so  when. I  was  told  that  a 


32  (THE   SILVER   KEY 

man  wished  to  speak  to  me.  I  bade  them  send 
him  up,  wondering  if  a  light  might  now  be 
thrown  on  the  tragedy  of  poor  Fichet's  end. 
A  young  man,  very  neatly  dressed,  with  a 
pleasant,  open  face  and  quiet  manner,  was 
shown  into  the  room  where  I  sat.  I  returned 
his  salutation,  which  was  quite  respectful  but 
perfectly  self-possessed,  as  though  he  had  been 
used  all  his  life  to  be  with  those  of  a  higher 
rank  than  himself.  Then  I  asked  his  business. 
"  My  poor  uncle  has  just  died  in  your 
service,  monsieur,"  he  said,  and  I  saw  that 
there  were  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  It  occurred  to 
me  that  you  might  want  someone  to  take  his 
place,  and,  out  of  respect  to  my  uncle's  mem- 
ory, and  also  on  account  of  the  great  affection 
he  had  for  you,  monsieur,  I  wished  at  least 
to  offer  myself  to  you.  I  have  more  than  one 
who  will  speak  for  me  here,  and  I  am  at  pres- 
ent in  the  service  of  M.  le  Comte  de  St. 
Georges,  who  is  leaving  Paris  for  his  estates 
in  Provence,  where  he  does  not  require  so 
great  a  following.  I  told  M.  le  Comte  my 
reason  for  wishing  to  take  my  uncle's  place, 
and  he  was  good  enough  to  approve  of  it,  and 


THE   SILVER    KEY  33 

to  honor  me  with  this  letter,  which  perhaps 
you  will  trouble  yourself  to  read." 

I  knew  the  Comte  de  St.  Georges,  and  I 
remembered  seeing  the  young  man  among  his 
servants — his  face,  without  being  remarkable 
either  for  beauty  or  its  reverse,  was,  somehow, 
one  that  stuck  in  the  memory.  His  letter  was 
very  complimentary.  Charles  Fichet,  St. 
Georges  said,  was  a  worthy  nephew  to  my 
poor  old  friend.  He  himself  was  sorry  to  part 
with  him  at  all,  but  he  had  to  retire  to  Pro- 
vence to  retrench  after  a  run  of  the  most  cursed 
ill  luck  at  the  cards  which  it  was  possible  to 
imagine.  He  would  like  to  feel  that  Charles 
was  comfortably  settled  with  a  good  master 
before  he  left  Paris,  and  he  was  certain  that 
I  would  regret  taking  him  as  little  as  he 
should  regret  having  recommended  him. 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said.  Even  had  I 
not  been  disposed  to  like  the  young  man  from 
the  firs* — even  had  he  had  no  such  claim  upon 
me  as  his  relationship  to  Fichet  gave  him — I 
could  not  have  disregarded  such  a  letter  of  rec- 
ommendation, coming,  as  I  knew  it  did,  from 
one  who  was  always  sparing  of  his  praise.  I 


34  THE   SILVER   KEY 

engaged  Charles  as  a  matter  of  course.  Then 
we  fell  to  discussing  his  uncle's  death.  I 
thought  I  owed  it  to  him  to  speak  freely  of  my 
extraordinary  adventure  at  the  Golden  Horse. 
He  heard  the  whole  story  with  interest,  and  I 
saw  that  he  took  my  view  of  the  affair,  and 
was  sure  the  Chevalier  du  Bac  WAS  responsible 
for  Fichet's  murder. 

"  Those  alchemists  are  equal  to  anything," 
he  said.  "  They  call  themselves  alchemists, 
but  I  should  call  them  poisoners.  I  have  seen 
something  of  the  tribe,  monsieur,  for  M.  le 
Comte,  poor  young  gentleman,  fell  into  their 
clutches  some  time  ago.  Alchemy!  Wells 
it  is  one  way  of  putting  it,  and  no  doubt  th% 
have  succeeded  in  making  gold,  but  it  is  by  no 
other  science  than  that  of  making  fools  of 
those  to  whom  Heaven  has  given  less  sense 
than  ourselves.  That  is  the  true  profession 
of  all  these  fine  gentlemen  who  call  themselves 
Chevaliers  and  the  like — I  think  they  have 
little  right  to  any  title  but  that  of  rogue  and 
swindler.  I  could  tell  you  some  tales,  mon- 
sieur! And  the  power  of  these  men  grows 
every  day — it  is  extraordinary  the  hold  they 


THE  SILVER   KEY  3$ 

have  upon  people  whom  one  would  suppose 
to  be  the  very  last  to  believe  in  such  nonsense. 
It  is  like  an  infatuation,  this  desire  to  make 
gold — everything  has  to  give  way  before  it. 

I  have  seen  that  with "  He  broke  off, 

and  I  guessed  that  he  was  thinking  of  St. 
Georges. 

"  If  you  have  had  some  experience  of  these 
scoundrels,"  I  said,  "  it  may  be  that  you  know 
this  man  who  calls  himself  the  Chevalier  du 
Bac." 

I  described  him  closely.  At  the  mention 
of  his  eyes,  and  of  the  liver-and-white  spaniel 
which  had  played  such  a  strange  part  in  my 
mysterious  adventure,  I  saw  that  Charles  was 
moved  to  some  t  >rt  of  excitement. 

"You  know  him?"  I  exclaimed,  stopping 
abruptly  in  the  midst  of  my  description. 

"  I  do  indeed  know  him,"  Charles  answered, 
"  for  it  was  he  whose  evil  influence  nearly 
ruined  my  poor  master.  Monsieur,  you  have 
fallen  in  with  the  worst  of  the  whole  gang — • 
a  man  who,  unless  report  lies  very  sadly  about 
him,  is  infinitely  more,  and  infinitely  worse, 
than  the  most  fraudulent  alchemist  that  ever 


36  THE    SILVER    KEY 

breathed.  In  his  dealings  with  my  master  He 
did  not  call  himself  by  the  name  he  gave  to 
you.  I  knew  him  as  Mynheer  Haerling,  of 
The  Hague,  where — as  he  told  M.  de  St. 
Georges — he  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
King  of  England,  of  whose  favor  he  makes 
a  great  boast.  I  never  heard  much  good  of 
His  Majesty  King  Charles,  but,  if  he  honors 
Haerling,  or  du  Bac,  or  whatever  his  name  is, 
with  his  royal  confidence,  he  is  a  much  more 
foolish  person  than  I  take  him  to  be.  You 
know,  monsieur,  that  it  is  said  of  him  that  he 
never  uttered  a  foolish  word,  or  performed  a 
sensible  action,  but,  even  so,  I  think  he  would 
not  patronize  du  Bac  if  he  knew  his  real 
character." 

"  And  where  is  this  man  to  be  found?  " 
"  That  is  impossible  ro  say.  He  visited  my 
master  at  his  own  house,  and  when  M.  le 
Comte  had  to  communicate  with  him,  I  was 
bidden  to  take  the  letter  to  a  house  in  the  Rue 
Gabrielle.  There  it  was  taken  from  me  by 
a  young  girl — I  never  saw  du  Bac,  nor  any 
sign  of  his  presence." 

"One  co-M  at  any  rate  make  inquiries  for 


THE   SILVER   KEY  37 

him  there.    The  people  are  very  likely  poor, 
and  would  give  up   his  whereabouts   for  a 


Ice." 


Charles  smiled  with  rather  a  peculiar  ex- 
pression 

"  I  hardly  think  so,  monsieur;  the  Chevalier 
has  probably  made  it  worth  their  while  to  be 
faithful,  and  thieves,  you  know,  are  not  fond 
of  betraying  each  other." 

"I  will  find  the  man  somehow!"  I  cried. 
"  I  will  search  all  France  until  I  find  him!  If 
you  had  seen  poor  Fichefs  face!  If  you  had 
felt,  as  I  have  felt  ever  since,  that  his  end  was 
my  faitf.t!" 

"  You  must  not  say  that,  monsieur;  it  was  no 
fault  of  yours.  The  whole  thing  was  a  trap. 
You  did  du  Bac  an  ill  turn  by  killing  his 
friend,  who  was  no  doubt  his  accomplice  in 
some  piece  of  lucrative  villainy  which  was 
afoot.  Du  Bac  determined  to  be  avenged  on 
you  for  your  interference  with  his  plans." 

"  But  the  dream,  Charles — can  you  explain 
that?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  I  cannot  explain  it;  but  I  think  that 


38  TFU   SILVER    KEY 

he  probably  stupefied  you  with  the  powder 
you  mentioned  in  order  to  murder  my  uncle 
undisturbed.  The  people  of  the  inn  were  no 
doubt  in  his  pay — he  had  no  interference  to 
fear  from  them.  You  disposed  of,  he  could 
do  as  he  chose,  and  depart  as  mysteriously  as 
he  came." 

"  I  will  find  him,"  I  repeated.  "  No  mat- 
ter what  the  difficulty  or  the  danger,  I  mean 
to  find  him." 

I  was  quite  determined  to  try  to  do  this, 
though  in  my  heart  I  was  not  sure  whether  I 
should  succeed.  Du  Bac,  alias  Haerling, 
seemed  the  kind  of  person  who  might  give 
one  a  good  deal  of  trouble  before  one  found 
him.  But  at  any  rate  I  would  make  the  at- 
tempt. On  the  whole  I  thought  it  might  be 
best  to  stay  at  Oreville  a  few  days  longer.  The 
Chevalier  would  probably  be  informed  of  my 
movements,  and  a  hurried  return  to  Paris 
might  warn  him  that  I  meant  him  harm,  and 
cause  him  to  conceal  himself  more  success- 
fully than  ever.  So  I  stayed  at  Oreville, 
where  Charles  joined  me  permanently  the  day 
after  our  first  interview,  It  must  have  been 


THE  SILVER  KEY  39 

at  the  end  of  the  week  that  he  came  to  me  one 
morning  and  laid  a  small  object  on  the  table 
at  which  I  was  writing. 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  looking  for  this, 
monsieur,"  he  said,  and  was  about  to  retire, 
with  an  apology  for  interrupting  me,  when  my 
reply  stopped  him. 

"  This  is  not  mine,  Charles." 

I  had  never  owned  such  a  thing,  certainly. 
It  was  a  small  silver  key,  about  three  inches 
long,  of  very  fine  workmanship,  and  with  a 
heart-shaped  top.  I  handled  it  idly,  turning 
it  to  and  fro,  and  Charles  stood  looking  at  me 
with  a  surprised  face. 

"  I  found  it  in  your  pocket,  monsieur — are 
you  sure  it  is  not  yours?  " 

"  It  certainly  is  not  mine.  In  which  pocket 
did  you  find  it?  " 

"  You  have  not  worn  the  suit  since  I  have 
been  here,  monsieur,  but  I  took  it  down  to 
brush  it  with  your  grey  riding-suit,  which  you 
splashed  with  mud  yesterday,  and  told  me  to 
clean.  It  was  a  black  suit,  of  very  fine 
cloth " 

I  sprang  from  my  chair,  and  let  the  silver 


40  THE    SILVER    KEY 

key  fall  on  the  table  as  though  it  had  been  a 
piece  of  red-hot  iron. 

"  That  was  the  suit  in  which  I  rode  from 
Paris!"  I  cried. 

I  stared  at  Charles,  and  he  at  me ;  the  silver 
key  lay  between  us,  winking  like  a  live  thing 
in  the  shaft  of  autumn  sunshine  that  fell  upon 
it  from  the  window. 

Charles  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Surely  the  Chevalier  would  not  leave  you 
anything  which  might  be  a  clue  to  his  iden- 
tity," he  said  slowly.  "  And  yet " 

He  stopped.  I  think  the  revelation  came  to 
both  of  us  at  the  same  instant.  I  sat  down 
suddenly,  and  gripped  the  edge  of  the  table. 
It  was  too  extraordinary — too  unbelievable; 

and  yet I  seemed  to  understand  a  good 

deal  now. 

"  Charles,"  I  said  solemnly — the  moment 
was  really  solemn, — "  that  was  no  dream,  that 
vision  of  mine.  It  was  reality." 

He  bent  his  head. 

"That  has  just  occurred  to  me  too,  mon- 
sieur." 

"  The  drive  in  the  coach — the  arrival  at  the 


THE  SILVER  KEY  41 

chapel — the  ceremony — all  were  real — genu- 
ine. It  was  I  who  was  the  impostor.  Those 
people  were  waiting  there  for  the  man  I 
killed — they  thought  me  du  Bac's  companion. 
As  for  the  key,  it  was  not  the  Chevalier  who 
gave  it  to  me— it  was  the  woman  whom  I  mar- 
ried— married  in  the  name  of  another  man, 
and  that  man  one  whom  I  had  killed  only  an 
hour  or  two  before!"  Unbelievable?  Im- 
possible? I  ought  to  have  known  that  with 
such  a  man  as  Charles  had  described  du  Bac 
to  be,  nothing  could  be  either  one  or  the  other. 
That  marriage  had  fitted  in  with  his  plans  in 
some  way  of  which  I  was  ignorant.  His  com- 
panion's death  had  interfered  with  the  per- 
formance of  the  ceremony.  Then  he  had  had 
what  one  must  only  call  a  flash  of  inspiration, 
of  veritable  genius.  He  had  detected  some 
slight  likeness  to  the  dead  man  in  myself,  and, 
as  the  ceremony  was  arranged  to  take  place, 
owing  to  reasons  I  could  not  guess  then,  in 
haste  and  secrecy,  he  had  hit  upon  the  diaboli- 
cal plan  of  using  me  for  his  purpose,  and  mak- 
ing me,  while  not  in  possession  of  my  proper 
senses^  impersonate  the  man  I  had  killed.  It 


42  THE    SILVER 

was  the  only  reasonable  explanation  of  the 
affair — I  saw  that  at  once,  and  wondered  that 
it  had  not  occurred  to  me  before.  Perhaps, 
but  for  the  silver  key,  I  should  never  have 
thought  of  it. 

Charles  was  evidently  as  much  struck  with 
the  explanation  as  I  was. 

"  Yes,  that  must  be  it,"  he  said.  "  The  wo- 
man gave  you  the  key  when  she  parted  from 
you  at  the  chapel  door.  No  doubt  she 

But  the  whole  horror  of  the  affair  burst 
upon  me  then,  with  a  kind  of  ghastly  humor 
which  paralyzed  me. 

"The  truth  is,  Charles,"  I  said,  "that  I 
am  married — legally  married — to  a  woman 
whose  face  I  have  never  seen,  and  whose  name 
I  do  not  know." 

Oh,  the  humor  of  it  was  ghastly  enough, 
but  it  was  none  the  less  irresistible  for  that! 
I  lay  back  in  my  chair  and  laughed  until  the 
tears  ran  down  my  face;  and  Charles,  recog- 
nizing, for  the  first  time,  the  fact  that  the 
tragedy  had  its  farcical  side,  regarded  me  with 
a  respectful  but  sympathetic  grin. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  HUNTRESS  DIANA 

WHEN  Charles  had  left  me  to  my  unpleasant 
reflections,  I  tossed  my  pen  aside  in  despair. 
I  felt  bewildered,  stupefied,  as  I  had  felt  while 
the  Chevalier's  infernal  smoke  still  hung  in 
the  air.  The  humor  of  the  thing  was  only 
on  the  surface,  after  all;  I  had  a  moment  of 
frank  disgust  at  my  own  foolishness  when  I 
realized  how  fatally  I  had  been  duped.  I 
remembered  his  prophecy,  when  he  had  pre- 
tended to  read  my  fortune  in  the  crystal — it 
was  easy  to  foretell  events  when  one  had  the 
power  to  bring  them  to  pass.  Even  then  he  had 
plotted  to  use  me  as  a  tool,  to  make  me  the  liv- 
ing proxy  of  the  dead  man  in  whose  marriage 
he  had  been  concerned  so  deeply;  and  I — fool 
that  I  was! — had  given  him  his  chance.  If 
I  had  only  stopped  his  talk  of  fortune-telling 
in  time  I  should  not  be  in  this  extraordinary 
position  now. 

And  the  chances  were  that  I  should  never 

43 


44  THE    SILVER   KEY 

set  eyes  on  the  scoundrel  again,  and  never  dis- 
cover the  identity  of  my  unfortunate  fellow- 
victim — the  woman  who  had  been  duped 
even  more  terribly  than  I.  Was  she  waiting 
even  now,  perhaps,  for  the  dead  man  to  appear 
and  claim  her — the  dead  man  whose  body  this 
mysterious  Chevalier  had  been  able  to  spirit 
away  as  easily  and  completely  as  he  had 
spirited  away  himself?  In  what  direction 
could  I  begin  to  search  for  one  who  vanished 
as  though  he  had  been  the  devil  whom  he 
served  so  well?  There  seemed  no  cllie,  and 
no  chance  of  rinding  one,  for  I  saw  that 
Charles  had  reason  on  his  side  when  he 
doubted  whether  the  Chevalier's  accomplices 
in  Paris  could  be  bribed  to  betray  him. 

But  to  Paris  I  would  go,  all  the  same.  I 
called  Charles  back  and  gave  him  my  orders; 
then  I  had  a  horse  saddled,  and  went  for  a 
gallop,  in  the  vain  hope  that  that  might  clear 
my  muddled  brain. 

It  was  a  bright,  brisk  morning,  and  the  yel- 
low leaves  on  the  trees  shone  like  gold  iri  the 
sun.  The  gay  autumn  air  soothed  me,  and  I 
rode  further  than  I  had  meant  to  do,  and  drew 


45 

up,  with  a  start,  just  outside  the  great  gates 
that  bar  the  end  of  the  avenue  of  the  Chateau 
de  Chevron. 

Even  as  I  drew  rein  the  great  iron  gates 
opened  with  a  screeching  of  rusty  hinges — the 
place  was  seldom  inhabited  but  by  servants. 
I  heard  voices  and  laughter.  Almost  before 
I  could  get  out  of  the  way  there  dashed  out 
upon  me  at  full  gallop  a  couple  of  riders  who 
all  but  rode  over  me. 

There  was  a  cry  of  recognition  from  the 
hindmost  rider,  who  was  my  young  friend 
Alain  de  Chevron.  He  checked  his  headlong 
pace,  and  called  to  his  companion  to  do  the 
same.  A  moment  more  and  he  was.  grasping 
my  hand,  and  assailing  me  with  a  number  of 
questions,  without  giving  me  an  instant  in 
which  to  answer  one  of  them. 

His  companion,  meanwhile,  rode  slowly 
back  to  us.  Alain  turned,  as  she  approached, 
and  took  off  his  riding-hat  with  a  gay  flourish, 
indicating  me  in  a  gesture  of  airy  introduc- 
tion. 

"  Allow  me  to  present  you  in  due  form," 
he  said,  laughing.  "  Ma  cousine,  this  is  the 


46  THE    SILVER    KEY 

gentleman  of  whom  I  have  already  told  you — • 
M.  d'Oreville.  Herve,  I  have  the  honor  to 
present  you  to — The  Huntress  Diana!" 

The  lady  to  whom  he  gave  so  strange  a 
title  bowed,  and  looked  at  me  with  an  expres- 
sion of  amusement. 

"  M.  d'Oreville  will  say  that  you  have 
caught  our  English  bad  manners,  Alain,"  she 
said,  speaking  in  French,  but  with  the  pret- 
tiest of  unfamiliar  accents.  "  I  thought  you 
were  more  formal  on  this  side  of  the  Channel. 
I  am  sure  our  foolish  Court  nicknames  do  not 
reach  so  far,  at  any  rate.  Do  not  look  at  me 
so,  monsieur,"  she  added,  laughing,  but  with- 
out any  trace  of  embarrassment  caused  by  my 
attention — and  indeed  she  was  as  used  to  being 
stared  at  as  any  queen  could  be — "  I  am  not 
a  heathen  goddess,  as  this  silly  boy  would 
seem  to  make  me  out,  but  simply  his  cousin, 
Diana  Royal,  of  whom  I  dare  say  you  have 
never  heard." 

The  nickname — given  her,  if  report  speak 
true,  by  King  Charles  himself — had  escaped 
my  memory;  but  the  name  had  not.  I  looked 
with  redoubled  interest  at  the  beautiful  Eng- 


THE    HUNTRESS    DIANA       47 

lish  girl  on  her  beautiful  English  horse — the 
girl  of  whom  Madame  de  Castlemaine,  that 
most  imperious  lady,  had  deigned  to  be  jeal- 
ous, of  whom  Her  Grace  of  Richmond  was 
afraid,  and  of  whom  even  pretty  and  good- 
humored  Mistress  Gwyn  had  said  a'  spiteful 
thing  or  two.  Rumor  would  have  it  that 
Milady  Diana  could  have  out-duchessed  them 
all,  had  she  chosen  to  do  more  than  laugh  at 
her  sovereign's  devotion.  And — let  me  say  it 
here — no  one  else  could  laugh  at  it  who  had 
ever  seen  Diana  Royal.  I,  who  write  this, 
have  seen  all  the  fairest  women  of  their  day, 
both  at  the  English  and  French  Courts — 
Cleveland,  and  Portsmouth,  and  Nell  Gwyn, 
and  the  Mazarin,  and  lovely,  stupid  Rich- 
mond; our  own  lamented  princess,  Henri- 
etta of  Orleans,  and  her  unlucky  .maid-of- 
honor,  La  Valliere,  Montespan  and  her  rival 
Fontanges,  and  a  score  of  others  no  less  fair 
than  these ;  but  not  one  of  them  all  could  com- 
pare with  Diana  Royal,  sitting  smiling  in  the 
sunshine  on  her  chestnut  horse,  which  almost 
matched  in  hue  the  chestnut — a  shade  darker 
— of  her  hair. 


48  THE   SILVER   KEY 

"  Milady  Diana  does  us  an  injustice  if  she 
thinks  we  have  not  heard  of  her  in  France," 
I  said.  "  Her  fame  has  swum  the  Channel 
already.  And  now  all  our  beauties  will  go 
on  horseback,  a  la  Diane,  and  wear  white 
plumes  in  their  riding-hats,  like  Henri  de 
Navarre." 

Alain  de  Chevron  laughed. 

"  That  is  what  I  have  been  telling  my 
cousin.  Come,  Herve,  we  are  going  your  way 
• — let  us  ride  together." 

I  was  nothing  loth,  and  we  cantered  gaily 
away.  Alain,  as  usual,  had  no  lack  of  con- 
versation. He  had  always  been  a  favorite 
of  mine,  this  handsome,  impetuous  boy  who 
had  no  people  of  his  own,  and  depended  al- 
most upon  the  charity  of  the  sour-tempered, 
elderly  Due  de  Chevron,  whose  heir-apparent 
he  had  been  until  a  year  ago,  when  the  Due 
had  married  Diana  Royal's  younger  sister,  a 
girl  of  seventeen,  "  purely  to  spite  me,  and 
cut  me  out  of  the  title,"  as  Alain  had  said  to 
me  at  the  time,  with  his  irresistible  laugh 
which  not  even  the  prospect  of  losing  a  duke- 
dom could  repress.  Now  there  was  a  fat, 


49 

blue-eyed  baby  between  Alain  and  the  title 
and  estates  of  Chevron;  and  the  Due  had  been 
unkind  enough  to  ask  him  down  to  the  Cha- 
teau for  the  christening  of  the  heir. 

"Or  so  he  says,"  he  added;  "  but  in  reality 
I  believe  it  was  because  he  was  afraid  to 
trust  Diana  to  anyone  else,  and  Madame  la 
Duchesse  would  not  rest  until  she  came  over, 
though  she  is  in  no  case  to  play  duenna  at 
present.  And  Diana  is  so  dangerous,  you 
must  know,  that  I  expect  every  night  that  the 
Chateau  will  be  sacked  and  burned  before 
morning  by  some  unlucky  suitor  whom  she 
has  driven  to  desperation.  I  have  lost  count 
of  the  poor  things,  there  are  so  many  of  them. 
Is  it  not  a  fearful  honor  to  be  in  charge  of 
such  a  person,  Herve?" 

"  I  wonder  you  are  not  afraid,"  I  said, 
glancing  at  Milady  Royal,  as  she  rode  beside 
me,  with  a  demure  smile  in  the  shadow  of  her 
white  plumes. 

"Oh,  Diana  does  noC  shoot  her  arrows  at 
her  poor  little  cousin — we  are  too  good 
friends  for  that.  For  the  moment,  however, 
my  perils  and  duties  are  light.  But  to-morrow 


$o  THE    SILVER    KEY 

we  move  in  state  to  Paris,  and  then  I  shall  be 
in  danger,  if  you  like!  There  will  be  jealous- 
ies by  the  score,  and  I  shall  do  well  if  I  escape 
a  dozen  duels  a  day,  if  Di  but  smiles  at  me 
too  pleasantly  for  my  fine  gentleman's  fancy, 
or  gives  me  a  moment's  conversation  too 
much." 

"You  silly  boy,  what  nonsense  you  talk!" 
Milady  Diana  said,  with  her  pleasant,  frank 
laughter. 

"  It  is  no  nonsense,  as  Herve  will  find  out 
when  he  returns  to  Paris  and  finds  you  the 
reigning  beauty,  and  the  Montespan  tearing 
her  hair  with  rage  because  no  one  will  look  at 
her  when  you  are  by." 

"  You  offer  me  a  tempting  prospect,"  I 
said,  "  for  I  go  to  Paris  to-day,  and  I  shall 
hope  that  we  may  all  meet  again  there ;  and 
I  will  take  a  few  of  your  duels  off  your  hands, 
Alain,  if  you  have  too  many  to  manage  com- 
fortably. By  the  way,"  I  added,  thinking  of 
the  business  which  was  taking  me  back  to 
Paris,  "  do  you  know  anything  of  a  man  who 
calls  himself  Haerling,  or  du  $ac — an  astrol- 
oger?" 


THE    HUNTRESS    DIANA        51 

Alain  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"Know  him!  For  my  sins,  I  do.  Why, 
there  is  nothing  done  with  my  precious  uncle 
unless  du  Bac  has  been  consulted.  He  was 
down  here  a  week  ago  drawing  the  horoscope 
of  the  little  angel  my  cousin — oh,  I  tell  you, 
he  dangled  a  splendid  future  before  that  poor 
little  morsel  of  pink-and-white  flesh.  Honors 
and  riches  without  count — but  a  dark  spot  in 
the  midst  of  it  all.  He  was  to  beware  of  me — 
me!"  the  boy  cried,  with  a  mixture  of 
amusement  and  anger.  "  Imagine  the  imper- 
tinence of  the  man!  He  read  it  out  to  us  all, 
as  cool  as  a  cucumber,  and  Di  fired  up  and 
took  my  part.  *  What  harm  do  you  suppose 
M.  Alain  will  do  my  little  nephew,  M.  le 
Chevalier? '  she  says,  with  her  pretty  nose  in 
the  air.  Be  quiet,  Di!  I  shall  call  it  a  pretty 
nose  if  I  like,  and  no  one  shall  prevent  me. 
The  fellow  smiled  in  that  way  he  has  that 
always  makes  me  want  to  throttle  him.  l  Alas, 
milady,  jealousy  is  the  most  dangerous  of  pas- 
sions ! '  he  says,  and  looks  at  me  with  those 
ill-matched  eyes  that  you  know.  '  Do  not 
think  I  speak  from  any  feeling  of  my  own — • 


52  THE   SILVER   KEY 

the  stars  direct  my  warning.  I  am  but  the 
humble  instrument  by  which  Heaven  designs 
to  prepare  my  noble  patron  for  the  evil  which 
is  to  come.'  By  Saint  Denys,  I  could  have 
spitted  the  scoundrel  with  pleasure!  But  my 
uncle  looks  at  me  as  though  he  thought  I  had 
a  poisoned  draught  for  the  baby  in  my  pocket, 
and  stops  the  discussion.  Never  mind,  I  will 
be  even  with  M.  le  Chevalier  some  day." 

I  thought  it  prudent  to  say  nothing  about 
my  own  adventure  for  the  moment. 

"  And  do  you  know  where  the  man  is  now?  r 
"  No  more  than  I  know  where  yesterday's 

(wind  is,  Herve.    In  Paris,  most  likely,  though, 
spinning  fresh  webs  for  fat  spiders.    I  hate  the 
<man  like  poison — they  say  he  deals  in  that 
too." 

Milady  Diana,  riding  beside  me,  started 
and  shivered  a  little. 

"  Hush,  Alain ! "  she  said  quickly,  "  You 
should  not  speak  so  freely." 

"  I  have  spoken  freely  too  long  to  learn  to 
mince  my  words  now,  Cousin  Di,"  the  boy 
answered,  in  something  of  a  pet.  "  I  believe 
you  are  as  bad  as  all  the  rest  over  the  man — I 


THE    HUNTRESS    DIANA        53 

have  seen  you  Whispering  in  corners  with  him 
oftener  than  I  liked,  I  can  tell  you.  I  would 
like  to  know  what  your  business  with  him  is, 
for  I  am  silre  you  have  no  need  of  love-potions 
for  anyone,  and  you  would  not  want  to  poison 
a  rival,  because  you  have  none.  You  had  bet- 
ter take  care,  for  there  is  more  than  one  story 
about  which  concerns  M.  du  Bac,  and  which 
he  does  not  tell  himself.  Do  not  whisper  with 
him  too  much,  or  you  may  be  sorry  for  it 
some  day.  Why,  I  have  made  you  blush  a 
fine  color,  ma  coiisine!"  he  added,  in  a  tone 
of  astonishment.  "  I  thought  even  King 
Charles  himself  had  never  made  the  Huntress 
Diaria  blush." 

I  do  hot  know  the  capacity  of  King  Charles 
for  raising  blushes  in  the  cheeks  of  his  fair 
subjects,  but  certainly  Milady  Diana's  com- 
plexion bore  witness  to  the  potency  of  some- 
thing in  her  young  kinsman's  hasty  speech  to 
shame  of  wound  her.  The  change  became 
her  so  well  ihat  I  wondered  she  had  not  al- 
lowed royal  pleasantries  to  prevail  over  her 
color  before;  but  she  was  plainly  deeply  of- 
fended by  Alain's  outburst.  She  drew  herself 


54  THE    SILVER    KEY] 

up,  and  spoke  in  a  tone  that  startled  me,  so 
changed  was  it  from  any  she  had  used  before. 

"  I  think  you  have  said  enough  foolish 
things  for  one  day,  Alain,"  she  remarked  icily. 
"With  M.  d'Oreville's  permission,  we  had 
better  turn  back." 

"Alain  was  only  in  jest,  milady,"  I  said, 
endeavoring  to  appease  her  sudden  anger. 
"  Do  not  punish  me  as  well.  I  had  hoped  to 
welcome  you  within  my  own  gates,  and  show 
you  the  view  from  the  terrace,  which  is  worth 
seeing,  even  after  Windsor  and  Hampton." 

"  I  am  no  judge  of  views,"  she  answered 
coldly.  "  I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy,  but 
I  must  decline  it,  monsieur.  Come,  Alain, 
will  you  not  bid  your  friend  good-day?  " 

There  was  something  a  little  spiteful  in  the 
accent  she  laid  on  that  "  your  friend,"  as 
though  she  pointedly  declined,  with  my  offer 
to  show  her  the  terrace  view,  all  suggestion  of 
even  possible  friendship  with  me  on  her  own 
part.  Yet  she  looked  so  lovely  in  her  dis- 
pleasure, with  a  sudden  darkness  in  the  depths 
of  her  hazel  eyes,  and  the  heightened  color 
still  on  her  "cheeks,  that  I  could  not  find  it  in 


THE    HUNTRESS    DIANA       55 

my  heart  to  resent  her  discourtesy.  Rather 
was  I  disposed  to  blame  poor  Alain  for  hav- 
ing offended  her,  though  I  hardly  saw  why  f 

Cf 

she  should  have  taken  his  speech  so  seriously. 

But  there  was  nothing  left  for  me  to  do  now . 
but  bid  them  good-day  with  what  grace  I 
might.  Milady  Royal,  relenting  somewhat, 
perhaps,  now  that  she  had  exacted  her  venge- 
ance upon  us,  held  out  a  small  gloved  hand 
for  my  salute  with  the  dignity  of  an  empress. 
I  bent  over  it  with  fitting  respect,  and,  to  tell 
the  truth,  hid  a  smile  at  the  same  time.  Alain 
sat  mum  and  sulky,  looking  like  a  pretty  child 
in  a  pet,  and  gave  me  a  glum  little  nod  and 
flick  of  the  fingers  on  the  shoulder. 

"  We  shall  all  meet  at  Fontainebleau  or  the 
Louvre  in  a  day  or  so,"  I  said,  endeavoring 
to  carry  off  the  situation  by  an  assumption  of 
unruffled  gaiety,  "  so  it  is  but  au  revoir! "  ^ 

But  Milady  Diana  had  repented  of  her  re- 
lenting air.  She  gave  her  chestnut  a  touch 
of  the  spur,  and  then  reined  him  up  with  a 
jerk  and  gave  me  a  very  careless  stare  out  of 
her  hazel  eyes. 

"  My  sister  is  too  sick  to  accompany  me  to 


56  THE    SILVER    KEY 

Court  yet,"  she  said,  "  and  it  may  be  that  I 
shall  soon  have  to  return  to  Windsor  and 
Hampton,  where  you  admire  the  scenery  so 
much,  monsieur.  So  I  think  it  had  better  be, 
not  '  au  revoir!  *  but—'  farewell! ' 

She  gave  the  chestnut  the  spur  in  good 
earnest  this  time,  and  me  the  coolest,  most  im- 
pertinent nod  in  the  world  as  she  cantered  off, 
with  her  hair  shining  under  her  white  plumes, 
and  her  head  held  very  high,  and  Alain  plod- 
ding savagely  at  her  heels. 

I  see  her  still  as  I  write,  for  it  is  thus  that  I 
always  like  best  to  think  of  her.  There  was 
an  indescribable  charm  to  me  in  her  anger — • 
it  seemed  as  royal  as  her  name.  I  see  her  still, 
looking  at  me  with  cool,  unfaltering  eyes,  care- 
less and  a  little  cruel  as  well,  the  beautiful 
English  girl  on  her  beautiful  English  horse, 
who  to  me  will  always  bear  the  name  which 
Alain  de  Chevron  gave  her  that  day — The 
Huntress  Diana. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  GABRIELLE 

I  HAD  little  leisure  to  ponder  over  the  ill 
humor  of  Milady  Diana.  That  evening  I 
rode  again  to  Paris,  established  myself  once 
more  in  the  Hotel  d'Oreville,  and,  an  hour 
after  supper,  took  my  way  to  the  Rue  Gabri- 
elle.  I  left  Charles  at  home,  despite  his  ear- 
nest entreaty  to  be  allowed  to  accompany  me. 
I  had  a  fancy  to  run  du  Bac  to  earth  unaided. 
The  house  Charles  had  indicated  to  me  was 
easily  found.  It  stood  wedged  between  a 
dirty  little  cabaret  and  the  empty  hotel  of 
some  absent,  or  perhaps  ruined  noble.  It  bore, 
huddled  against  the  huge,  rusted  gates  of  beau- 
tiful iron-work,  a  strange  resemblance  to  some 
venomous  toadstool  which  had  sprung  up  at 
the  root  of  a  splendid  fallen  tree.  The  house 
had,  I  know  not  why,  a  poisonous  look,  as  of 
something  sinister  and  deadly.  Perhaps  this 
was  more  or  less  my  own  fancy,  for  I  never 

57 


58  THE   SILVER   KEY 

heard  anyone  else  remark  upon  its  appearance 
as  in  any  way  unusual.  But  to  me  the  small 
windows,  almost  buried  in  the  thickness  of 
the  dingy  wall,  and  peering  out  into  the  night 
like  tiny,  malevolent  eyes,  the  heavily-nailed 
door,  the  strange  silence  which  lay  over  a 
place  apparently  inhabited  by  human  beings 
of  some  sort,  made  up  a  picture  which  has 
always  remained  in  my  mind's  eye  as  a  symbol 
of  something  unwholesome  and  evil,  of  ter- 
rible practices  carried  on  within,  of  crimes 
before  the  mere  thought  of  which  the  blood 
must  run  cold.  To  me  this  house  in  the  Rue 
Gabrielle  always  remains  a  temple  of  the 
devil  and  all  his  works,  with  its  character 
branded  deep  into  the  very  stones  of  it,  so  in- 
delibly and  unmistakably  that  I  have  always 
wondered  its  very  look  did  not  at  once  betray 
it  to  justice. 

I  own  that  I  walked  twice  the  length  of  the 
street  before  I  made  up  my  mind  to  touch  the 
heavy  iron  knocker,  shaped  like  a  satyr's  head, 
with  goat's  horns  showing  through  a  wreath 
of  ivy  leaves,  and  an  unholy,  twisted  sort  of 
smile  on  the  ugly  face  beneath  which  re- 


HOUSE   IN    RUE   GABRIELLE    59 

minded  me  in  a  startling,  unpleasant  manner 
of  the  man  I  came  to  seek.  When  at  last  I 
knocked,  I  had  to  wait  for  some  moments  be- 
fore anyone  responded  to  my  summons.  Then 
I  heard  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  a  shuf- 
fling sound,  as  of  one  trying  to  look  through 
a  keyhole,  and  bending  about  painfully  in  the 
attempt.  Then  followed  a  silence,  only  broken 
at  last  by  a  stifled  laugh,  which  fell  very  un- 
comfortably on  my  ear.  Another  interval  of 
silence  followed,  during  which  I  decided  that 
the  person  who  had  laughed  must  have  moved 
away.  Then  came  a  light  step,  and  the  grating 
of  bolts  and  bars.  The  door  was  thrown 
open. 

I  own  to  a  feeling  of  amazement.  I  had 
expected  I  know  not  what — a  devil,  perhaps — 
du  Bac  himself,  or  some  terrible  apparition 
to  fit  the  character  I  had  already  given  to  that 
ill-omened  house.  What  I  actually  encoun- 
tered was  very  different.  In  the  opening  of 
the  door,  with  a  taper  in  her  hand,  stood  a 
young  girl  whose  pale,  delicate  features,  large 
blue  eyes,  and  fair  hair  falling  softly  upon  her 
shoulders,  seemed  to  belong  more  to  the  angels 


60  THE   SILVER   KEY 

than  to  those  demons  to  the  possession  of 
which  I  had  already  consigned  the  whole 
place.  With  the  light  falling  on  her,  and  a 
questioning,  wistful  expression  on  her  face, 
she  stood  there  waiting  to  know  my  errand; 
and  for  a  moment  I  could  hardly  collect  my- 
self sufficiently  to  ask  her  if  the  Chevalier  du 
Bac  was  to  be  found  there. 

Her  fixed  and  yet  vacant  gaze  had  in  it 
something  pitiful,  something  which  filled 
one's  heart  with  a  vague  regret,  but  which 
created  no  sort  of  antipathy.  Even  my  in- 
stinctive distrust  of  the  house  did  not  prejudice 
me  against  her.  When  she  spoke  it  was  in  a 
voice  very  soft  and  musical. 

"If  you  have  a  message  for  the  Chevalier, 
monsieur,  my  mother  will  give  it  to  him.  He 
is  not  here  now." 

"  Can  I  see  your  mother,  mademoiselle?  " 

"  She  is  not  in  now,  monsieur.  Could  you 
not  give  the  message  to  me?" 

I  hesitated.  My  message  for  du  Bac  was 
hardly  one  which  could  be  entrusted  to  this 
pale,  soft-eyed  girl,  and  yet An  idea  oc- 
curred to  me. 


HOUSE   IN    RUE   GABRIELLE    61 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  give  you  the  mes- 
sage, mademoiselle — if  I  may  come  in  for  a 
moment." 

She  still  surveyed  me  with  that  wide,  wist- 
ful gaze  which  had  struck  me  at  first  as  so 
oddly  pathetic. 

"  I  am  not  allowed  to  speak  to  anyone  who 
comes  to  the  house  as  a  rule,  but  you — — " 
She  broke  off  for  an  instant.  "  Yes — you  may 
come  in,"  she  added  in  another  tone,  as  though 
she  had  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  made  a 
decision  for  herself. 

I  entered  the  narrow  passage,  and  she  shut 
and  bolted  the  door  behind  me.  Then  she  led 
the  way  to  a  little  chamber  which  has  always 
remained  to  me  a  memory  of  extraordinary 
beauty  in  the  midst  of  so  much  that  was  evil 
and  terrible.  The  walls  of  that  strange  little 
retreat  were  tapestried  entirely  with  hang- 
ings of  wonderful  richness,  representing,  in 
the  finest  needlework,  histories  of  the  saints. 
Before  a  white  marble  Virgin  and  Child  a 
rose-colored  lamp  held  a  soft,  unwavering 
flame;  and,  though  it  was  autumn,  a  great 
bowl  of  white  lilies  stood  before  it,  giving  out 


62  THE   SILVER   KEY 

a  sweet,  overpowering  perfume  in  the  still- 
ness of  the  close-shut  room. 

The  girl  did  not  ask  me  to  be  seated.  She 
herself  remained  standing  with  the  lamp  in 
her  hand,  looking  at  me  with  her  questioning 
air. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  glancing  at  the 
shut  door,  and  speaking  as  softly  as  I  could, 
"  do  you  know  this  M.  du  Bac?  " 

She  appeared  surprised  at  the  question. 

"  I,  monsieur?    I  know  nobody." 

"Nobody!  But  surely — you  see  the  people 
who  come  to  your  mother's  house?  " 

"  Once  or  twice  I  have  opened  the  door  to 
people  whom  I  do  not  know,  as  I  have  done 
to-night,  monsieur.  Their  business  is  not  with 
me — I  take  them  to  my  mother.  That  is 
all." 

"But  you  have  seen  du  Bac?" 

"  I  have  seen  a  gentleman  my  mother  called 
by  that  name — a  slight  gentleman,  with  odd 
eyes.  Is  that  your  M.  du  Bac?  He  came  here 
yesterday.  He  has  a  dog  with  him  when  he 
comes,  I  think,  for  I  have  heard  it  bark." 

"  And  he  is  here  now,"  I  said  very  quietly. 


HOUSE   IN    RUE   GABRIELLE    63 

Her  face  was  as  readable  as  a  child's.  The 
hot  color  touched  it  in  an  instant. 

"  Monsieur!"  she  cried,  in  a  tone  at  once 
protesting  and  entreating.  "  Monsieur !  " 

"  You  were  told  to  lie,  mademoiselle,"  I 
said  gently.  "  It  is  not  your  fault  if  the  ac- 
complishment comes  hardly  to  you.  Du  Bac 
is  here.  He  has  done  me  a  great  wrong — he 
has  injured  another  person,  a  woman,  even 
more  than  he  has  injured  me.  I  wish  to  see 
him.  You  will  help  me — is  it  not  so?" 

"You  will  kill  him?  "  she  whispered  fear- 
fully, with  her  wide  blue  eyes  on  my  rapier. 

"  If  I  can,  I  will  certainly  kill  him — you 
see  I-  do  not  try  to  deceive  you.  You  do  not 
know  what  the  man  is,  or  you  would  be  glad 
that  he  should  be  killed." 

"  But  if  you  kill  him,"  she  said,  "  some- 
thing terrible  will  happen  to  you.  I  have 
heard  my  mother  speak  of  this  Chevalier — 
she  is  afraid  of  him,  she  says  he  is  a  devil. 
Monsieur,  I  tell  you  all  I  know.  I  do  not 
know  why  he  comes  here,  but  late  at  night  I 
have  sometimes  heard  his  dog  barking — and 
my  mother  has  always  been  quiet  and  strange 


64  THE    SILVER    KEY 

next  day.  I  knew  then  that  he  was  here.  He 
comes  here  for  no  good — I  do  not  know  how 
I  know  that,  but  I  am  certain  of  it.  He  is  very 
strong,  and  very  evil.  Do  not  see  him — do 
not  make  him  angry — it  will  be  the  worst  for 
you  if  you  do." 

"  He  is  here,  mademoiselle,  and  I  have 
come  here  to  find  him." 

She  clasped  her  hands  entreatingly. 

"  Some  great  harm  will  come  to  you,"  she 
repeated.  "  I  am  sure  of  it.  Oh,  monsieur, 
you  do  not  know  how  terribly  I  suffer  in  this 
house,  where  I  am  kept  almost  as  a  prisoner, 
where  I  know  things  are  happening  of  which 
I  am  not  told,  but  which  I  fear,  though  I 
never  witness  them.  I  see  veiled  ladies  come 
here  at  twilight,  and  go  away  with  a  quick 
step,  a  furtive  bearing.  Why  do  they  come 
here,  monsieur — why  do  they  hurry  away? 
When  all  the  rest  of  the  world  sleeps,  this 
house  is  awake— I  lie  and  listen  to  sounds  of 
which  I  do  not  know  the  meaning,  but  which 
fill  me  with  fear  which  I  cannot  explain. 
Sometimes  a  child  cries — oh,  horribly,  mon- 
sieur— horribly!"  She  shivered  visibly,  as 


HOUSE   IN    RUE    GABRIELLE    65 

though  at  some  dreadful  recollection.  "  It  is  as 
though  some  one  were  hurting  it — killing  it. 
Monsieur,  why  is  it  that  these  things  are  done 
here?  When  we  lived  at  Avignon,  my  mother 
was  gay  and  happy;  we  were  poor,  it  is  true, 
we  had  not  always  enough  to  eat — but  there 
was  none  of  this  mystery;  we  slept  soundly  at 
night,  we  were  at  peace  with  all  the  world. 
Since  we  have  been  in  Paris  we  have  been  rich 
—you  see  this  room  I  I  am  kept  here  all  day, 
surrounded  with  every  luxury,  I  have  jewels 
a  queen  might  wear — I  who  a  year  or  two  ago 
was  going  barefoot  through  the  streets.  But 
I  am  miserable,  for  I  know  that  at  the  bottom 
of  our  wealth  there  lies  some  terrible  secret 
which  my  mother  is  keeping  from  me — and 
this  Chevalier  du  Bac  has  to  do  with  the 
secret." 

All  this  she  said  rapidly,  with  a  passion 
which  took  away  my  breath.  It  was  as  though 
the  pent-up  suspicion  of  years  had  burst  forth 
at  my  question  for  du  Bac — as  though  she 
must  speak  out  her  thoughts,  or  die.  I  con- 
fess that  her  frankness  pleased  me  from  a 
selfish  point  of  view,  for  I  felt  that  this  gentle, 


66  THE   SILVER   KEY 

blue-eyed  girl  was  a  valuable  ally  in  my  cam- 
paign against  du  Bac. 

"  If  you  will  take  me  to  du  Bac,  mademoi- 
selle, I  will  do  my  best  to  rid  you  of  his  com- 
pany for  the  future." 

"  But  if  you  fail,"  she  said,  trembling, 
"  what  will  happen  then?  Oh,  monsieur,  I 
entreat  you  to  give  up  this  mad  idea — believe 
me  when  I  tell  you  that  harm  will  come  of  it! 
My  mother  says  that  du  Bac  is  not  like  other 
men.  He  has  powers  that  are  not  human — I 
am  sure  of  it.  Do  not  try  to  see  him — do  not 
seek  to  take  revenge  for  your  wrongs.  He  is 
stronger  than  you  are.  Surely  it  is  wiser  to 
leave  him  alone,  not  to  struggle  against 
him." 

This  advice  would  have  been  well  enough 
had  it  been  offered  to  one  in  a  less  curious 
position  than  that  in  which  I  found  myself. 
If  I  abandoned  my  search  for  du  Bac  the  mys- 
tery of  that  midnight  adventure  would  most 
likely  never  be  solved — poor  Fichet's  end 
would  certainly  never  be  avenged.  No,  I 
must  see  du  Bac,  whatever  came  of  the  inter- 
view. I  cannot  say  that  I  looked  forward  to 


HOUSE  IN    RUE   GABRIELLE    67 

it  with  any  sort  of  pleasure,  but  I  knew  that 
it  was  inevitable. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  must  see  this  man,"  I 
said  gently. 

She  sighe'd,  looking  at  me  with  a  piteous 
expression  of  sorrow  and  apprehension  in  her 
blue  eyes,  but  she  made  no  further  protests. 
Only  for  a  moment  she  seemed  to  hesitate,  to 
wait.  Then,  in  the  silence  of  that  ill-omened 
house,  we  heard  a  soft  step  moving  down  the 
passage  towards  the  door;  the  door  opened, 
and  du  Bac  came  into  the  room. 

There  was  a  vicious  look  in  his  badly- 
matched  eyes,  yet  he  sauntered  in  with  an  ad- 
mirable air  of  self-possession.  The  liver-and- 
white  spaniel  trotted  at  his  heels. 

The  girl  drew  back  with  a  quick  little  ges- 
ture of  fear.  Du  Bac  made  her  a  mocking 
bow. 

"  I  regret  that  I  should  have  disturbed  a 
doubtless  interesting  conversation,"  he  said, 
"  but  this  gentleman  seems  to  have  business 
with  me.  Will  you  not  run  away,  my  dear?  " 
he  added,  addressing  the  girl  in  a  tone  of 
contemptuous  familiarity  which  made  my 


68  THE    SILVER    KEY 

blood  boil.  "  Our  business  is  not  likely  to 
interest  you." 

I  saw  the  swift  color  sweep  over  her  face, 
leaving  it  paler  than  before.  For  an  instant 
she  looked  at  me  appealingly.  I  read  warn- 
ing in  her  gaze.  Then  she  shrank  away  under 
du  Bac's  look  and  slipped  noiselessly  from  the 
room. 

Du  Bac  threw  himself  carelessly  into  a 
chair,  and  motioned  me  to  follow  his  example. 
I  remained  where  I  was,  however. 

"A  pretty  girl — eh,  monsieur?  w  he  said. 
in  his  drawling  way.  "  I  see  you  think  so. 
A  pity  the  inside  of  that  fair  head  is  not  fur- 
nished better — you  take  me,  I  hope?  "  He 
touched  his  forehead  with  a  significant  air. 
"  Sad — sad — I  have  no  doubt  she  told  you 
some  of  her  fancies.  Cries  at  night — mys- 
terious visitors — eh?  Ah,  I  see  you  have  had 
the  whole  story  inflicted  upon  you.  It  is  sel- 
dom that  the  poor  child  escapes  from  her 
mother's  charge  and  finds  a  listener." 

Was  he  annoyed  by  my  chance  meeting  with 
the  girl?  I  thought  his  tone  betrayed  a  faint 
undercurrent  of  discomfort.  But  that,  so  far 


HOUSE   IN    RUE   GABRIELLE    69 

as  I  could  see,  had  nothing  to  do  with  my 
quarrel  with  him. 

"  This  is  not  our  business,  I  think,"  I  said. 
"  I  have  a  question  to  ask  you,  monsieur.  I 
wish  to  know  what  happened  the  other  night 
when  we  met  at  the  Golden  Horse." 

He  stroked  his  chin  with  a  thoughtful 
finger. 

"What  happened  at  the  Golden  Horse? 
Why,  we  had  a  very  good  supper,  I  believe, 
and  drank  more  wine  than  was  good  for  our 
wits,  perhaps — I  recollect  no  more  than 
that." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  make  an  effort,  mon- 
sieur," I  said  sternly,  "  and  remember  a  good 
deal  more  than  supper  or  wine." 

He  surveyed  me  with  the  coolest  air  of  im- 
pertinence I  have  ever  seen. 

"Ah,  now  I  remember!  You  killed  my 
friend — is  not  that  it?" 

"There  was  more  than  that,"  I  answered, 
a  little  disconcerted — for  I  saw  his  meaning. 
"Think — what  did  you  do  to  me  after  sup- 
per?" 

His  eyelids  drooped  suddenly.    I  felt  that 


70  THE    SILVER   KEY 

something  had  gone  wrong  with  his  plans, 
though  what  it  was  I  could  not  guess. 

"  The  wine  was  strong,  monsieur,"  he  said, 
in  quite  another  tone. 

"  You  took  me  with  you  in  a  coach,"  I 
answered,  disregarding  this  remark.  "  You 
see  that  I  remember  more  than  you  do." 

He  had  turned  deadly  pale  at  my  mention 
of  the  coach.  Almost  before  I  ceased  speak- 
ing, he  was  out  of  his  chair,  confronting  me 
with  an  air  of  menace. 

"You  dream!"  he  said  hoarsely.  "You 
dream — or  else  you  are  mad!  Is  this  a  jest? 
It  is  a  very  sorry  one,  let  me  tell  you,  if  it  is — 
and  there  is  danger  in  it  too." 

"  What  was  the  lady's  name,  M.  le  Chev- 
alier?" I  asked  quietly. 

"You  remember  that?"  he  cried,  almost 
beside  himself  with  rage. 

I  saw  the  slip  he  had  made  in  his  anger.  I 
had  gained  one  point  at  least — my  midnight 
adventure  was  no  vision. 

"  I  have  a  good  memory,"  I  answered, 
boldly  following  up  my  first  success.  "  Come 
— you  see  I  have  you  at  a  disadvantage.  You 


HOUSE  IN   RUE  GABRIELLE    71 

had  better  make  terms  with  me.  I  want  the 
lady's  name." 

He  had  grown  calmer  after  that  momentary 
outburst.  Perhaps  he  saw  how  ill  his  rage 
had  served  him. 

"Oh,  you  want  the  lady's  name?"  he  said, 
in  his  usual  tone.  "  Well,  it  does  not  suit  me 
to  give  it  to  you.  Nor  would  it  suit  the 
lady,  perhaps,  to  have  it  known.  There  are 
three  sides  to  the  matter,  as  I  hooe  you  will 


see." 


"  The  lady  must  know  the  truth,  sooner  or 
later.  What  your  plan  was  I  cannot  imagine, 
but  the  fact  remains  that  you  made  me  go 
through  a  ceremony  of  marriage  in  the  place 
of  the  man  whom  I  unfortunately  killed.  I 
confess  that  your  object  is  not  plain  to  me,  but 
of  the  thing  itself  I  am  certain.  I  wish  to 
know  the  name  of  your  other  dupe,  M.  du 
Bac." 

"  I  refuse  it  to  you,"  he  said  obstinately. 
"  There  are  three  sides  to  the  matter,  as  I 
have  told  you — yours,  the  lady's,  and  mine. 
It  does  not  suit  me  that  you  should  know  who 
the  lady  was — that  is  all.  If  you  try  to  find 


72  THE    SILVER    KEY 

out,  I  will  denounce  you  to  the  police  as  the 
murderer  of  the  man  whom  you  killed  at  the 
Golden  Horse." 

Of  course  he  could  do  that — there  he  had 
me  at  his  mercy. 

"  Before  we  come  to  that,  we  will  find  an- 
other way  of  settling  differences,"  I  said. 
"  Defend  yourself,  monsieur — I  give  you  fair 
warning  that  I  will  kill  you  if  I  can.  You 
are  a  murderer  and  a  liar — draw,  for  your 
life!" 

He  stared  at  me  for  a  second.  Then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  in  the  manner  habitual 
to  him,  and  drew  his  rapier. 

"As  you  will,  monsieur,"  he  said.  "The 
road  is  of  your  own  choosing — take  it,  and  go 
to  the  devil  your  own  way! " 

A  moment  more  and  his  blade  was  at  my 
throat.  I  have  fought  not  a  few  masters  of 
the  art,  but  I  will  say  for  du  Bac  that  he  was 
the  superior  of  any  I  ever  crossed  swords  with. 
And  he  wras  fighting  to  kill  me — I  had  not  an 
instant's  doubt  of  that.  I  knew  too  much  of 
his  business  for  his  own  comfort  and  safety, 
if  not  enough  for  my  own  satisfaction.  I  had 


HOUSE   IN    RUE   GABRIELLE    73 

remembered  things  which  I  had  evidently 
been  intended  to  forget — all  this  I  read  in  the 
deadly  fury  of  his  assault.  An  odd  helpless- 
ness stole  over  me  as  I  parried  the  strokes 
which  came  ever  nearer  and  nearer,  closing 
in  upon  me  like  a  net  of  moving  steel. 

Suddenly  his  blade  caught  mine,  tearing  it 
literally  out  of  my  hand  and  sending  it  with 
a  clatter  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  Al- 
most at  the  same  instant,  while  I  expected  du 
Bac's  last  and  fatal  stroke,  the  lamp  before 
the  statue  of  the  Virgin  was  extinguished,  and 
the  room  was  in  utter  darkness. 

I  heard  du  Bac's  furious  exclamation,  and 
stepped  back  softly  out  of  his  reach.  A  mo- 
ment more  and  a  hand  closed  on  mine — a 
small,  cold  hand  which  seemed  to  promise 
safety  and  escape.  I  felt  it  pulling  me  for- 
ward into  the  darkness,  and  obeyed  its  sum- 
mons as  quietly  and  quickly  as  I  could.  I 
heard  a  door  open,  and  felt  myself  pushed  into 
what  I  imagined  must  be  the  passage.  All 
was  dark  and  silent  as  the  grave.  The  cold 
ringers  which  grasped  mine  still  pulled  me 
on.  Again  a  door  opened,  and  I  found  myself 


74  THE   SILVER   KEY 

upon  the  doorstep  of  the  house  from  which  I 
had  so  barely  escaped  alive. 

I  caught  the  gleam  of  pale  hair,  a  faint  voice 
whispered  "  Run  for  your  lifel"  in  my  ear, 
and  the  door  shut  as  abruptly  as  it  had  opened. 
For  a  moment  I  stood  staring  stupidly  at  the 
dark  outlines  of  the  houses  against  the  blue 
night  sky.  Then  I  obeyed  the  commands  of 
my  deliverer  and  hurried  away  up  the  Rue 
Gabrielle,. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  HOTEL  DE  CHEVRON 

A  DAY  had  passed  since  my  unpleasant  adven- 
ture in  the  house  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle — a  day 
filled  chiefly,  I  confess,  with  bewildered  re- 
flections. My  attempt  to  bring  du  Bac  to  jus- 
tice had  failed  most  signally,  and  I  own  that, 
so  far  from  having  pushed  forward  my  cam- 
paign of  vengeance,  I  seemed  rather  to  have 
put  myself  in  a  worse  position  than  before. 
Du  Bac  would  not  lightly  forgive  me  for  hav- 
ing escaped  him — I  trembled  to  think  of  the 
girl  who  had  saved  me,  and  who,  less  fortu- 
nate than  I,  remained  in  my  enemy's  power. 
Du  Bac  would  assuredly  make  her  pay  for  her 
interference  on  my  behalf,  just  as  he  would 
make  me  pay  for  having  baffled  him.  I  had 
hitherto  been  the  pursuer — I  foresaw  that  now 
I  should  be  the  pursued. 

This  conviction  was  not  cheering,  as  you 
may  guess ;  and  it  was  in  no  very  lively  mood 
that  I  sat  over  rrr£  solitary  supper  next  night. 

75 


76  THE    SILVER   KEY 

It  was  almost  with  delight,  therefore,  that  I 
hailed  the  appearance  of  Alain  de  Chevron, 
who  came  in  gaily,  and  appeared  to  have  re- 
covered the  good  humor  which  his  beautiful 
cousin  had  tried  on  the  occasion  of  our  last 
meeting. 

"  I  come  in  a  new  guise,  Herve,"  he  said, 
when  our  first  greetings  were  over.  "  I  am  an 
ambassador — what  do  you  think  of  that? 
Faith,  it  is  a  part  I  have  never  been  called 
upon  to  play  before,  and  I  fail  to  see  exactly 
why  'tis  thrust  upon  me  now." 

Du  Bac  and  his  deeds  of  darkness  went  out 
of  my  head.  I  saw  Milady  Diana  smiling  at 
me  in  the  shadow  of  her  white  riding-hat. 

"  I  can  guess  from  what  fair  sovereign  you 
are  accredited,"  I  said.  "  It  is  the  beautiful 
cousin  who  has  relented  and  repented,  and 
who  is  graciously  pleased  to  honor  me  with 
her  commands." 

Alain  settled  himself  in  his  chair  and 
laughed. 

"  For  a  man  who  hates  women,  you  have 
an  amazing  knowledge  of  their  caprices,  M. 
d'Oreville,  I  must  say.  Yes,  it  is  quite  true — 


HOTEL   DE    CHEVRON          77 

Milady  Di  honors  you  with  a  command. 
Whether  you  will  be  quite  certain  that  the 
honor  is  worth  the  trouble  it  is  like  to  cost 
you  when  you  know  Di  better  is  more  than  I 
can  tell  you.  Now,  to  be  quite  frank  with  you, 
I  thought  the  other  day  that  you  did  not  make 
the  most  favorable  impression  in  that  quar- 
ter. But  it  seems  that  I  was  in  the  wrong. 
To-night  I  marked  an  extraordinary  gracious- 
ness  in  the  lady's  manner  towards  myself.  I 
naturally  expected  that  I  should  be  called 
upon  to  pay  for  such  sweetness — and  so  I  was. 
'  Where  is  your  friend — I  forget  his  name — 
Oreville — Doreville,'  says  Milady,  with  a  fine 
air  of  carelessness.  c  He  seemed  to  have  a 
tongue  in  his  head.  Paris  is  very  dull — I  pro- 
test I  am  moped  to  death  in  this  great,  gloomy 
house.  Go  and  find  your  M.  d'Oreville ' 
(she  had  not  forgotten  your  name,  after  all, 
you  see) , '  and  bring  him  here  to  amuse  me.' ' 

He  stretched  a  foot  as  pretty  as  a  girl's  to 
the  blaze  of  my  wood  fire,  and  surveyed  it 
fixedly. 

"And  that  was  your  errand?"  T  asked,  a 
trifle  nettled. 


78  THE  SILVER  KEY 

"  OH,  not  in  so  many  words,  you  know — it 
was  understood  that  I  was  to  embroider  a 
little.  But  I  am  bad  at  embroidering,  Herve, 
as  you  know.  Diana  wants  to  see  you — that's 
a  fact;  I  trust  you  not  to  let  her  see  that  I  told 
you  so." 

"  Milady  Diana  Royal  seems  used  to  hav- 
ing her  own  way,"  I  remarked  rather 
coldly. 

Alain  shrugged  faintly. 

"  Now,  you  are  not  to  put  on  that  disap- 
proving air.  I  know  you  hate  women,  but  I 
have  a  little  scheme  in  view."  He  turned  to 
me  with  a  face  of  irresistible  boyish  fun. 
"  Come,  Herve — will  you  marry  my  pretty 
cousin?  " 

"My  dear  Alain,  what  nonsense  are  you 
talking?" 

But  he  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  No,  I  am  really  not  joking.  If  you  will 
demand  her  hand  of  me  in  proper  form,  I 
will  give  it  to  you  with  the  greatest  good-will 
in  the  world.  Frankly,  Herve,  I  am  not  jest- 
ing. I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  see  Di  mar- 
ried to  you." 


HOTEL   DE    CHEVRON          79 

"  I  have  never  thought  of  marriage,"  I 
answered  stiffly. 

He  smiled  mischievous  unbelief. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  have,  Herve — on  wet  days  at 
Oreville,  when  the  Chateau  seemed  too  big  to 
live  in  all  alone.  Confess,  now — you  have 
very  often  thought  of  it.  I  have  thought  of 
it  myself,  too,"  he  added,  with  delicious 
gravity.  "  I  know  my  uncle  has  a  marriage 
in  his  mind  for  me — and  I  have  not  the  slight- 
est idea  of  making  it.  I  am  not  going  to  marry 
Mademoiselle  de  Richambeau,  a  simpering 
little  miss  from  a  convent  (she  is  not  out  of  it 
yet),  without  an  idea  in  her  head.  If  Diana 
were  a  few  years  younger,  or  I  a  few  years 
older,  I  should  not  be  proposing  to  marry  her 
to  you,  I  can  tell  you.  I  consider  I  am  behav- 
ing in  a  very  generous  way." 

"  I  hope  Milady  Diana  will  agree  with 
you,"  I  said,  utterly  at  a  loss  to  know  what  he 
meant. 

"No,  I  am  afraid  she  will  not,"  he  an- 
swered. "  You  see,  there's  another  man  in  the 
affair,  Herve — that  is  the  worst  of  it." 

It  is  impossible,  I  suppose  you  will  say. 


8o  THE   SILVER   KEY 

that  I  should  have  cared  that  there  was  another 
man,  for  I  had  seen  Milady  Diana  hut  once ; 
but  I  own  to  a  feeling  of  annoyance  at  Alain's 
words. 

"Indeed?  This  grows  interesting,"  I  said 
carelessly.  "  Will  you  tell  me  the  tale, 
Alain?" 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  would  be  best  You 
see,  Herve,  my  cousin  Diana  has  not  always 
had  her  own  way.  Her  father,  my  Lord 
Huntingford,  was  as  obstinate  an  old  Cavalier 
as  ever  emptied  a  beaker  to  the  confusion  of 
the  Lord  Protector;  and  he  had  his  likes  and 
dislikes,  as  we  all  have.  He  took  a  violent 
hatred  to  his  next  neighbor,  Sir  Thomas 
Carewe,  and  cursing  was  too  bad  for  him  in 
the  old  man's  eyes.  Now  Sir  Thomas  had  a 
son,  one  Robin  Carewe,  for  whom,  saving  your 
presence,  I  have  a  very  honest  detestation  my- 
self— he  is  not  fit  to  marry  Di,  at  any  rate. 
But  what  does  Lady  Di  do,  like  the  capricious 
divinity  she  is,  but  get  up  a  fine,  romantic  love- 
affair  with  Master  Robin,  simply  because 
poor  old  Huntingford  could  never  bear  the 


HOTEL   DE    CHEVRON          81 

man  in  his  sight.  What  she  saw  in  him  is  more 
than  I  can  tell  you,  for  he  was  always  as  reck- 
less a  scamp  as  you  could  find,  plunging  from 
one  scrape  into  another,  noted  for  high  play 
and  duelling,  and  ever  in  want  of  money. 
Still,  such  as  he  is,  Diana  adores  him;  and  you 
may  guess  the  battle  there  was  when  Uncle 
Huntingford  found  it  out.  The  Royals  have 
tongues  and  tempers,  as  well  as  beauty,  I  can 
assure  you.  He  swore  he  would  leave  her 
penniless  if  she  married  Robin  Carewe,  and 
give  her  portion  to  her  sister,  Madame  de 
Chevron.  It  was  no  light  promise,  for  Uncle 
Huntingford  was  as  rich  as  a  prince  in  a  fairy 
tale ;  but  he  kept  his  word,  and  died — of  spite, 
I  believe — some  six  months  later,  and  left  a 
will — ah,  Herve,  such  a  will!  If  Diana  mar- 
ries Robin  my  uncle  de  Chevron  and  his  wife 
take  all  the  Huntingford  estates — and  that's 
where  the  hitch  comes  in,  for  Master  Robin 
does  not  mean  to  beggar  himself  for  love  of 
my  pretty  cousin,  and  Di  swears  she'll  have 
no  one  else." 

I   remembered   the  beautiful,   proud   face 
under  the  white-plumed  riding-hat. 


82  THE    SILVER    KEY 

"  She  will  probably  keep  her  word,"  I  said. 

"  And  if  she  does  that  old  skinflint  of  an 
uncle  of  mine  will  have  every  penny  she  pos- 
sesses— so  you  see  why  I  would  have  you 
marry  her,  Herve,  or  indeed  any  other  man, 
so  long  as  it  be  not  Robin  Carewe." 

"  You  had  better  try  someone  else  then, 
Alain,  for  I  cannot  marry  your  cousin  against 
her  will." 

He  swung  round  in  his  chair,  and  eyed  me 
with  a  critical  glance. 

"  But  why  against  her  will,  my  good 
Herve?  You  are  as  good  as  any  other,  as  far 
as  I  can  see.  If  you  paid  her  a  little  court — 
she  loves  that  near  as  well  as  she  loves  Robin 
Carewe.  Come,  Herve — for  my  sake  do  as  I 
ask.  'Tis  not  much  to  make  love  to  the  pret- 
tiest girl  in  two  kingdoms  to  please  your  best 
friend." 

"  You  seem  to  put  more  faith  in  my  powers 
than  I  do  myself,"  I  said,  laughing  at  his 
earnestness. 

"  By  Saint  Denys,  I  am  as  fond  of  you  as 
though  you  were  my  brother,  I  wish  from 
heart  you  were,"  he  answered  heartily. 


"  Come,  now,  promise  me  that  you  will  think 
it  over,  at  least." 

"  I  think  you  are  a  foolish  boy,"  I  said,  ris- 
ing, "  and  I  think  it  is  time  we  were  on  our 
way  to  the  Hotel  de  Chevron.  It  will  not 
further  my  cause  with  the  fair  lady  if  I  begin 
it  by  keeping  her  waiting." 

"  Faith,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  Alain 
said  reflectively,  as  he  reached  for  his  hat  and 
cloak.  "  I  believe  'tis  because  Robin  Carewe 
keeps  her  waiting,  and  plays  the  tyrant  over 
her,  that  she  is  so  cursedly  fond  of  the  fellow. 
Take  example  by  him,  Herve,  andx  do  not  be 
always  too  civil." 

With  this  wise  piece  of  advice  the  conver- 
sation ended,  though  I  cannot  help  confess- 
ing that  the  subject  of  it  buzzed  confusingly 
in  my  brain  as  we  entered  the  Hotel  de  Chev- 
now — that  great,  dark  mansion  which  Milady 
Diana  not  unnaturally  found  dull  and  de- 
pressing. There  seemed  a  good  deal  of  reason 
in  her  complaint  to-night,  for  the  huge  re- 
ception-room into  which  we  were  shown  was 
but  half-warmed  and  half-lighted.  This  was 
probably  owing  to  the  penurious  habits  of  the 


84  THE   SILVER   KEY 

Due  de  Chevron,  who,  if  his  essays  in  the  mys- 
terious science  of  alchemy  had  not  yet  taught 
him  how  to  make  gold,  was  in  no  sort  of  need 
of  any  lessons  in  the  art  of  keeping  what  he 
had. 

We  were  received  by  the  Due  himself,  a 
small,  shrivelled  figure  of  a  man,  in  sober 
and  rather  shabby  clothes,  with  a  bloodless 
little  waxen  face  framed  in  white  hair  and 
white  pointed  beard  and  mustache,  and 
cold,  thin  fingers  which  chilled  one  with  a 
touch  which  seemed  more  mechanical  than 
alive.  I  never  could  see  him  without  being 
reminded  of  a  skeleton,  so  clearly  were  the 
lines  of  his  skull  defined  through  the  pallid 
skin  which  seemed  stretched  over  it  as 
though  over  a  frame.  A  mean  little  man, 
with  a  rattish,  sidelong  glance,  and  no  blood 
in  his  veins,  as  he  had  no  warmth  of  kindly 
feeling  in  his  heart — such  was  the  Due  de 
Chevron,  uncle  of  my  friend  Alain,  and  hus- 
band to  Diana  Royal's  sister,  a  beautiful  girl 
of  eighteen. 

The  Duchesse  was  on  a  couch  removed 
from  the  faint  radiance  of  such  light  as  the 


HOTEL  DE   CHEVRONi          85 

apartment  could  boast.  She  had  a  piece  of 
embroidery  in  her  hand,  but  I  do  not  think 
she  was  working  at  it  very:  industriously,  and 
the  fingers  she  placed  in  mine  for  a  moment 
were  as  ice-cold  as  those  of  the  Due  himself. 
They  almost  chilled  my  lips  when  I  kissed 
them,  and  a  sort  of  shiver  ran  through  me  at 
their  touch,  and  at  the  stony  expression  which 
rested  on  a  face  which  should  have  been  soft 
and  blooming  as  a  child's.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  a  woman  of  marble  lay  there  on  the 
couch  in  that  great,  dim  room,  holding  a 
piece  of  frozen  needlework  in  her  useless 
hands. 

The  glacial  atmosphere  affected  even 
Alain's  usually  irrepressible  spirits,  and  con- 
versation languished  during  the  long  mo- 
ments which  we  endured  while  the  Due 
made  occasional  remarks  upon  the  weather, 
and  the  Duchesse  sat  immovable  over  her 
embroidery.  I  was  beginning  to  curse  my- 
self for  coming  there  at  all  when  the  door 
at  the  far  end  of  the  room  opened,  and 
Milady  Diana  entered. 

It  was  as  though  light  and  warmth  per- 


86  THE   SILVER   KEY 

sonified  in  a  human  figure  had  burst  upon 
our  gloom.  The  wavering  tapers  seemed  to 
burn  more  brightly  as  she  came.  She  wore — 
I  remember  it  still — a  dress  of  a  pale  blue 
satin,  which  shone  in  the  dim  light  with  a 
kind  of  luminous  radiance  of  its  own.  There 
were  pearls  at  her  throat,  and  pearls  in  the 
soft  thickness  of  her  chestnut  hair.  Her  head 
was  held  very  high,  and  a  scarlet  spot  seemed 
to  burn  on  each  cheek,  but  I  noticed  a  worn 
look  in  her  face  which  had  not  rested  on  it 
when  she  cantered  out  of  the  gates  of  the 
avenue  at  Alain's  side. 

She  was  very  gracious,  as  Alain  had  said. 
Possibly  she  had  really  repented  of  her  scant 
courtesy  to  me  on  the  occasion  of  our  first 
meeting— I  do  not  know.  She  seated  herself 
on  the  foot  of  her  sister's  couch,  and  I  could 
not  but  remark  the  likeness  and  also  the  dif- 
ference between  them.  It  would  have  bec.3 
difficult  to  say  which  was  the  more  beautiful; 
but  Milady  Diana's  beauty  was. that  of  a  live, 
passionate,  sensitive  human  being,  and  that 
of  her  sister  was  the  cold  loveliness  of  a 
statuet  Never2  surely^  I  thought,  could  the 


87 

slightest  quiver  of  feeling  disturb  that  ex- 
quisite mask;  never  could  any  mere  human 
emotion  change  by  so  much  as  the  shadow  of 
a  shade  the  impassive  stare  of  those  beautiful 
hazel  eyes,  which  were  so  like  Diana's,  with 
the  light  in  them  gone  out.  Never  could 
Madame  la  Duchesse  permit  that  lovely 
aloofness  of  hers  to  be  ruffled  by  any  sort  of 
passion — by  anger,  or  hatred,  or  love.  When 
I  look  back  at  that  first  impression  which  she 
made  upon  me,  it  is  with  a  sort  of  stupefac- 
tion at  the  magnitude  of  my  mistake,  or  of 
her  powers  of  dissimulation,  for  never,  since 
the  world  began,  was  a  woman  so  unlike  all 
that  one  would  have  taken  her  to  be  I 

Alain  revived  in  his  cousin's  presence. 
They  began  teasing  each  other,  as  I  soon  dis- 
covered was  their  custom.  Milady  Diana 
was  pleased  to  admit  me  to  the  pleasant  war- 
fare, and  soon  the  stately,  icy  room  was  ring- 
ing with  our  laughter.  But,  however  well 
she  played  her  part  of  mirth,  I  could  see  that 
inwardly  the  girl  was  not  at  ease.  I  remem- 
bered the  story  Alain  had  told  me  of  her 
unlucky  attachment  to  the  scape-grace  Robin 


88  THE    SILVER    KEY 

Carewe,  who  would  not  even  risk  the  loss  of 
what  he  might  never  have  for  the  sake  of 
the  Huntress  Diana.  What  must  the  man  be 
made  of,  I  wondered,  if  he  would  not  lose 
something  for  this  beautiful,  dauntless  girl, 
who  would  have  thrown  away  everything  she 
possessed  in  order  to  marry  him?  A  poor 
sort  of  creature,  surely,  or  he  would  never 
hesitate  to  take  Diana  Royal  at  the  cost  of  all 
the  world  held  without  her. 

I  think  the  evening  passed  on  wings.  It 
was  late,  I  know,  when  at  last  Alain  and  I 
were  forced  to  rise  and  say  good-night.  The 
Due,  small  and  ceremonious  in  all  things, 
walked  with  us  the  length  of  the  long,  dark 
room.  We  were  half  down  it  when  suddenly 
I  heard  Milady  Diana's  voice  calling  my 
name. 

"  You  have  dropped  a  pretty  knot  of  rib- 
band, monsieur  1" 

I  went  back.  She  was  standing  a  little  way 
from  her  sister's  couch,  and  she  put  out  her 
hand  as  though  giving  me  something ;  but  the 
gesture  was  nothing  but  a  blind. 

u  Would     you     do     me     a     service,     M. 


HOTEL   DE   CHEVRON          89 

d'Oreville?"  she  said  very  quickly,  in  a  low 
voice,  as  I  stood  close  beside  her. 

"  I  will  do  anything  you  ask  me,  milady," 
I  answered,  in  a  tone  as  quick  and  cautious 
as  her  own. 

"Then  take  this  note  to  the  place  to  which 
it  is  addressed.  I  will  drop  it  on  the  floor. 
Quick  I  Before  the  Due  turns." 

The  Due  turned  as  she  spoke,  but,  under 
cover  of  the  fan  she  held  before  her,  she  took 
a  little  folded  paper  from  her  breast,  and 
dropped  it  dexterously,  at  the  exact  moment 
that  I  bent  as  though  to  pick  up  something 
which  had  fallen. 

"Another  ribband!"  she  cried,  with  a 
laugh.  "  I  hope  you  are  not  so  careless  with 
your  love-letters,  monsieur." 

"  If  you  will  honor  me  by  trying  me, 
milady,"  I  said,  loud  enough  for  the  return- 
ing Due  to  hear,  "  you  shall  have  every  proof 
of  my  prudence — and  devotion." 

She  laughed  again,  dropped  me  a  pretty, 
mocking  salutation,  and  retreated  to  her  sis- 
ter's side.  I  saw  a  little,  perplexed  frown 
cross  the  Due's  waxen  face,  and  he  glanced 


90  THE    SILVER    KEY 

at  me  quickly — I  thought  he  looked  more  like 
a  rat  than  ever.  I  crumpled  Milady  Diana's 
note  in  my  hand  and  passed  him  with  a  bow. 

Out  in  the  damp,  cold  night  I  paused  for 
a  moment  ere  I  rejoined  Alain,  and,  in  the 
light  streaming  from  a  window  of  the  Hotel 
de  Chevron,  glanced  furtively  at  the  super- 
scription of  the  letter.  It  ran  simply  enough, 
but  perplexingly  enough  too,  "  16,  Rue 
Gabrielle."  Beneath,  in  one  corner,  were 
two  initials—"  R.  C." 

I  stood  for  a  moment,  staring  into  the 
darkness.  I  had  stepped  from  a  lighted  room 
into  the  chill  gloom  of  a  November  evening 
— from  a  pleasant  dream  I  had  fallen  into 
the  unpleasant  world  of  reality. 

I  remembered  suddenly  that  I  was  mar- 
ried 1 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  QUEST  OF  ROBIN  CAREWE 

I  SHOULD  have  been  more  than  human,  I 
suppose,  if  the  prospect  of  another  visit  to 
the  house  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle  had  afforded 
me  any  particular  satisfaction;  but,  oddly 
enough,  what  worried  me  more  than  the  des- 
tination of  the  letter  was  the  identity  of  the 
person  for  whom  it  was  designed.  That 
"  R.  C."  in  the  corner  was  infinitely  more  un- 
pleasant to  me  than  the  possibility  of  another 
encounter  with  du  Bac.  I  had  taken  a  dislike 
to  this  man  whom  I  had  never  seen — this 
lukewarm  lover  of  Milady  Diana,  whose  at- 
tributes seemed  so  poorly  to  justify  her  devo- 
tion. Scapegrace — gambler — brawler;  surely 
a  man  could  hardly  have  a  worse  reputation! 
Yet,  in  spite  of  all  she  must  know  of  his  fail- 
ings, she  remained  faithful  to  him,  to  the 
detriment  of  her  own  best  interests.  Well, 
women  are  inexplicable  creatures,  and  I  tried 

91 


92  THE    SILVER   KEY 

to  console  myself  with  this  well-worn  reflec- 
tion, but  without  much  success.  The  letter 
seemed  to  burn  my  hand,  the  consciousness  ot 
its  existence  robbed  Alain's  laughter  of  its 
charm,  and  lent  an  additional  chill  to  the 
damp  November  night  And  why,  I  said  to 
myself  in  a  fit  of  pettish  anger — why,  in  the 
name  of  all  ill-fortune,  the  Rue  GabrielU 
again?  Was  not  du  Bac  the  Due's  chief  a& 
viser  and  most  familiar  friend?  Why  could 
not  she  have  given  him  the  letter  for  Robin 
Carewe  without  dragging  me  into  the  con- 
cern? And — here  again  I  felt  baffled — what 
was  the  connection  between  du  Bac  and 
Carewe — between  Diana  Royal's  lover,  and 
the  ante  damnee  of  the  Due  de  Chevron? 
Surely  the  Due  must,  as  in  honor  bound, 
disapprove  most  strongly  of  his  sister-in- 
law's  infatuation,  since  he,  of  all  people, 
would  profit  most  by  her  marriage? 

But  all  speculation  was  useless.  I  had  to 
deliver  the  letter — there  my  business  ended. 
The  rest  was  not  my  affair.  Let  Milady 
Diana  go  her  way,  as  she  assuredly  would  do, 
without  regard  to  any  opinions  of  mine.  As 


QUEST   OF   ROBIN   CAREWE    93 

for  du  Bac,  he  seemed  just  now  to  dominate 
every  action  of  my  life,  however  unimportant 
— I  could  not  even  undertake  to  deliver  a 
letter  but  the  accursed  thing  must  lead  me 
straight  to  his  house.  I  got  rid  of  Alain  as 
soon  as  I  could,  and  went  moodily  home.  The 
first  person  to  meet  me  was  Charles  Fichet, 
with  a  perturbed  look  on  his  pleasant  face. 

"  Ah,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  home  safe,  mon- 
sieur," he  said,  with  evident  sincerity.  "  I 
have  had  a  bad  half-hour — I  admit  it  now 
that  I  see  you  again." 

"What  has  happened?" 

"  You  had  scarcely  set  out  with  Monsieur 
Alain  when  the  porter  came  to  fetch  me.  A 
young  girl  was  asking  to  see  you,  and  would 
not  take  no  for  an  answer  when  she  was  told 
that  you  were  from  home.  I  went  with  the 
porter  at  once,  and  found  her  in  his  lodge — 
a  young  girl,  beautiful  as  an  angel,  with  blue 
eyes  and  the  expression  of  a  saint.  I  asked 
her  business — but  with  respect,  monsieur,  for 
she  was  evidently  a  person  of  respectability. 
She  seemed  in  great  distress  at  the  thought 
that  she  could  not  see  you.  She  said  that  you 


94  THE    SILVER    KEY 

were  in  danger — that  she  had  come  to  warn 
you.  I  asked  her  to  wait  for  your  return,  but 
she  said  that  she  dared  not  stay — she  would 
be  missed." 

"Do  you  know  the  girl,  Charles?" 

"  I  think  I  recognized  -her,  monsieur,  for 
the  girl  belonging  to  the  house  in  the  Rue 
Gabrielle,  where  you  went  last  night.  It  is 
true  that  I  never  saw  her  very  plainly,  for  it 
was  always  dark  when  I  went  there,  and  she 
never  seemed  to  have  a  light,  but  the  voice 
of  this  young  person  reminded  me  of  hers." 

"  That  is  the  girl,  right  enough,"  I  said, 
remembering  how  gallantly  she  had  saved 
me  from  du  Bac  the  night  before.  "Now,  I 
wonder  what  devilry  that  scoundrel  has  afoot 
against  me." 

"  She  beg'ged  me  to  induce  you  to  leave 
Paris — to  leave  France,"  he  answered.  "  She 
seemed  in  deadly  terror  of  du  Bac,  as  I  dare 
say  she  has  good  cause  to  be." 

"Nevertheless,  I  cannot  take  her  advice. 
Instead,  I  shall  go  now  to  the  Rue  Gabrielle, 
and  you  shall  go  with  me." 

I  am  sure  that  if  I  had  announced  my  in- 


QUEST   OF   ROBIN   CAREWE    95 

fention  to  visit  the  devil  in  his  own  domains 
Charles  was  far  too  well-trained  to  offer  even 
the  most  decorous  of  objections;  but  he  was 
silent  for  a  moment  before  he  replied — 

"  After  last  night,  monsieur?  " 

"  Would  it  not  be  safer  to  face  this  man 
once  for  all  than  to  have  him  plotting  to  mur- 
der me  every  time  I  go  out  of  doors?"- 

Charles  sighed. 

"  Yes,  monsieur — I   suppose   it   is   best  to 

go." 

"  But  we  will  not  go  by  the  front  door  this 
time,  Charles,"  I  said,  smiling.  "  I  have  a 
mind  to  know  more  about  that  house  than  I 
do  now.  I  want  to  see  the  girl,  too — I  have 
something  to  say  to  her.  Is  there  not  some 
way  of  getting  round  by  the  back?  " 

"  There  is  a  narrow  lane  at  the  rear  of  the 
house,  monsieur — it  would  be  possible  to 
reach  it  from  there.  The  gate  is  probably 
fastened  at  this  hour,  and  the  wall  is  high, 
but  we  might  climb  it,  if  you  are  decided, 
monsieur " 

"  I  am  quite  decided.    Let  us  set  out." 

It  was  now  nearly  an  hour  after  midnight, 


96  THE   SILVER   KEY 

and,  if  tHe  Rue  Gabrielle  seemed  an  undesir- 
able place  in  daylight,  you  may  guess  how 
much  its  appearance  was  improved  by  the 
cold,  foggy  dimness  through  which  we  made 
out  its  black  walls  and  deep-set  windows. 
We  passed  du  Bac's  harborage — it  seemed 
asleep,  there  was  no  gleam  of  light  in  any 
window,  no  sign  of  life  to  be  seen.  At  the 
end  of  the  street  we  found  the  narrow  lane 
which  communicated  with  the  backs  of  all 
the  houses  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle.  It  was 
black  as  pitch — an  ominous  hole  as  ever  I 
came  upon.  I  think  we  each  laid  a  hand  to 
the  hilt  of  our  weapons  as  we  crept  down  it; 
but  it,  like  the  street  we  had  just  left,  seemed 
utterly  deserted  and  harmless.  We  reached 
the  high  wall  of  No.  16  at  last,  and  found 
the  wicket-gate  set  deep  in  its  thickness. 
Charles  tried  it,  and  I  heard  him  draw  a 
quick  breath  in  the  dark. 

"  It  is  open,  monsieur,"  he  whispered. 

"  We  are  expected,  perhaps,"  I  whispered 
back,  with  a  levity  which  I  was  far  from 
feeling.  "  Fortune  is  on  our  side — let  us 
go  in." 


QUEST   OF   ROBIN   CAREWE    97 

I  felt  that  Charles  disapproved  entirely, 
though  respectfully,  of  the  whole  proceed- 
ing; but  he  stood  aside  very  politely  to  let  me 
pass.  We  found  ourselves  in  a  little  sort  of 
courtyard,  round  three  sides  of  which  the 
house  seemed  built.  The  irregular,  sloping 
lines  of  the  roof  and  chimneys  showed  faintly 
against  the  blurred  night  sky;  and  in  one 
window  I  caught  a  glimmering  light.  It 
struck  me  that  it  might  be  the  window  of  the 
room  in  which  I  had  fought  with  du  Bac — 
that  odd,  shrine-like  retreat  in  the  midst  of 
the  terrible  house  which  held  the  girl  who 
had  saved  me  from  du  Bac's  rapier.  At  any 
rate,  it  might  be  best  to  try  whether  my  idea 
was  right. 

We  crept  to  the  window.  The  curtain  was 
but  half  drawn,  and,  in  spite  of  the  dimness 
of  the  light  within,  I  could  make  out  the  pale 
aureole  of  a  saint  on  the  tapestry  which  hung 
down  beside  the  casement.  Yes,  it  was  the 
right  room ;  but  whom  should  we  find  within 
it  to-night? 

As  the  thought  crossed  my  mind  someone 
approached  the  window.  I  held  my  breath 


98  THE   SILVER   KEY 

and  waited.  A  moment  more,  and  the  win- 
dow opened  very  softly  and  a  fair  head  was 
thrust  out. 

There  was  no  time  to  waste,  and  I  could 
not  risk  her  terror  if  she  discovered  us  before 
I  spoke. 

"  Mademoiselle! '"'  I  said  gently.  "  Do  not 
be  alarmed — we  mean  you  no  harm." 

Contrary  to  all  my  expectations,  she  did 
not  make  the  slightest  outcry.  She  must  have 
guessed  who  we  were  at  once. 

"  Can  you  climb  in  through  the  window, 
if  I  open  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes ;  be  quick,  for  one  never  knows  who 
can  see  us." 

She  threw  the  window  back  to  its  fullest 
extent.  A  moment  more,  and  we  were  in  the 
room.  She  drew  the  curtain,  and,  with  won- 
derful quickness  of  understanding,  moved 
the  tiny  lamp  where  it  could  not  throw  the 
shadow  of  our  figures  across  the  window. 

"  The. saints  told  me  you  would  come,"  she 
said,  as  simply  as  Jeanne  d'Arc  herself 
might  have  done.  "  They  have  sent  you  here 
that  I  may  warn  you  with  my  own  lips," 


"What  have  you  to  tell  me,  mademoi- 
selle?" 

"  That  M.  du  Bac  is  hunting  you,  mon- 
sieur— that  he  is  hunting  you,  and  to  the 
death!  Listen — to-day  I  overheard  him 
speaking  to  my  mother.  They  thought  I  was 
here,  but  I  had  gone  down  to  get  water  for 
my  flowers,  and  they  were  in  the  front  room 
with  the  door  a  little  ajar.  I  heard  him  say, 
( One  way  or  the  other,  there  must  be  an  end 
to  him.  I  had  enough  of  his  ways  lart 
night.' " 

She  paused,  as  though  hardly  able  to  con- 
tinue. 

"And  then,  mademoiselle?  " 

She  wrung  her  hands  with  an  air  of  de- 
spair that  would  have  melted  a  rock. 

"  How  shall  I  tell  you— how  shall  I  tell 
you?"  she  cried.  "She — my  mother — an- 
swered, and  this  is  what  she  said — ah,  I  can 
hear  the  dreadful  words  now  I — *  Is  it  to  be 
poison,  or  will  you  manage  it  by  an  accident 
— a  street  quarrel,  perhaps?  It  would  be 
easier  that  way.' ' 

A  pleasant  pair,  I  thought,  but  the  girl's 


ioo  THE    SILVER    KEY 

shame  and  agony  prevented  me  from  making 
any  remark. 

"  And  then,  mademoiselle?  " 

"  He  said,  '  He  is  as  slippery  as  an  eel,  and 
got  away  last  night,  thanks  to  that  slut  of 
yours.  I  will  slit  her  throat  if  she  meddles 
in  my  business  again — perhaps  you  will  tell 
her  so,  with  my  compliments.  This  time  I 
will  have  no  mistakes.  Two  of  my  men  have 
an  eye  on  him — they  will  fall  upon  him 
to-night,  if  he  comes  out,  as  I  expect  he 
will." 

"But  why  did  they  not  fall  upon  me?" 

"  Because  I  prevented  it,  monsieur,  with 
the  help  of  the  saints.  I  am  always  left  alone 
in  the  evening,  and  I  knew  no  one  would 
come  to  look  for  me,  so  I  slipped  out,  and 
went  to  the  Hotel  d'Oreville.  Two  men 
were  lounging  just  outside  the  big  gates,  and 
I  guessed  they  were  waiting  for  you.  So  I 
called  a  boy  who  was  passing,  and  gave  him 
a  silver  piece  to  go  to  them  and  tell  them  that 
the  Chevalier  had  need  of  them  quickly  at 
Fontainebleau." 

"  I  owe  you  my  life  twice  over,  then,"  I 


QUEST   OF   ROBIN   CAREWE  101 

said  as  she  paused.  "What  happened  rext, 
mademoiselle?" 

"  I  watched  them  well  away,  and  then 
tried  to  see  you,  but  you  were  out,  as  you 
know — I  think  the  men  must  have  just  missed 
you,  but  they  would  have  waited  until  you 
returned.  I  came  back  in  despair,  for  I  did 
not  think  you  would  leave  Paris  unless  you 
heard  what  danger  you  are  in.  But  now, 
monsieur,  you  will  surely  go?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot;  and  if  I  went, 
mademoiselle,  I  am  still  more  afraid  that  I 
should  not  be  safe.  The  Chevalier  has  too 
good  a  reason  for  wishing  me  harm  to  leave 
me  alone  if  I  went  to  Oreville.  No,  I  shall 
not  leave  Paris." 

She  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of 
alarm  and  distress. 

"  Then  I  have  done  no  good — I  cannot  do 
anything  to  help  you!  " 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  child,  you  have  done  a 
great  deal  for  me,"  I  said  earnestly,  "  and  I 
will  ask  you  to  do  something  more.  A  gen- 
tleman named  Carewe — an  Englishman — 
comes  here  sometimes,  does  he  not?.  I  want 


THE   SILVER   KEY 

you  to  give  him  this  letter,  without  du  Bac's 
knowledge,  if  you  can." 

She  had  drawn  back  at  the  mention  of 
Carewe's  name. 

"  I  have  not  seen  Monsieur  Carewe  lately 
— I  think  he  has  quarrelled  with  the 
Chevalier.  Must  I  take  the  letter,  mon- 
sieur? " 

It  was  strange,  I  thought,  that  she  should 
seem  so  reluctant  to  do  me  such  a  slight  serv- 
ice when  she  had  already  risked  her  life  to 
save  mine.  I  could  not  understand  why  she 
hung  back,  and  why  the  color,  always  faint 
and  pale,  ebbed  suddenly  on  her  cheek  at  the 
mention  of  Carewe. 

"  I  shall  be  very  grateful  to  you  if  you  will 
take  it." 

She  took  it,  still  with  that  strange  air  of 
reluctance. 

"  And — if  I  cannot  deliver  it,  monsieur? 
If — if  Monsieur  Carewe  does  not  come  here 
again?" 

"  Then  you  must  give  it  back  to  me,"  I  said 
lightly,  not  thinking  this  possibility  at  all 
likely.  "  And  now  we  must  leave  you.  But 


QUEST  OF  ROBIN  CAREWE    103 

— are  you  safe  here?  Will  du  Bac  find  out 
that  it  was  you  who  warned  me?  " 

"  He  dare  not  harm  me,  monsieur— I  do 
not  know  why,  but  my  mother  once  told  me 
that  he  dared  not,  and  I  believe  she  had  some 
reason  for  what  she  said.  He  may  threaten 
me,  but  no  more.  Besides,  he  will  not  know 
that  it  was  I  who  warned  you — nobody  but 
yourself  and  your  servant  can  possibly  know 
that." 

"  It  is  true,"  I  said,  though  I  did  not  care 
to  think  of  her  at  du  Bac's  mercy.  "  But 
still — if  you  were  in  danger,  could  you  not 
communicate  with  me?  " 

She  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"  I  could  trust  no  one  to  take  a  message, 
monsieur.  Stay — there  is  one  way  in  which 
I  could  let  you  know  if  there  is  danger, 
either  for  .yourself  or  me.  You  can  see  this 
window  from  the  lane,  though  the  wall  is 
high  in  places;  just  in  front  of  this  part  of 
the  house  it  has  been  broken  down,  and  re- 
placed by  an  iron  railing.  If  there  is  fresh 
danger  to  you  I  will  hang  a  piece  of  red 
'drapery  from  the  window  every  morning;  if 


104     ft      THE   SILVER   KEY 

the  danger  is  to  me,  it  shall  be  white.  If — It 
I  cannot  deliver  your  letter  to  Monsieur 
Carewe,  it  shall  be " 

"  Black,"  I  said,  seeing  that  she  paused. 

She  shivered  suddenly,  and  her  blue  eyes 
dropped  from  mine. 

"  Black — if  you  will,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
that  trembled  a  little. 

So  we  took  leave  of  her,  and  ended  our 
strange  interview,  and  got  carefully  out  of 
the  window  and  into  the  courtyard.  Very 
cautiously  we  stole  towards  the  wicket-gate. 
We  had  almost  reached  it  when  Charles 
clutched  my  arm. 

"  Hush!  someone  is  at  the  gate." 

Quick  as  thought  he  dragged  me  back  under 
the  shadow  of  a  tree,  the  drooping  branches 
of  which,  leafless  as  they  were,  seemed  de- 
signed as  a  most  welcome  hiding-place.  We 
crouched  breathless,  waiting.  It  was  true — 
there  was  some  one  fumbling  with  the  fasten- 
ing of  the  gate.  Very  slowly  it  opened,  and 
a  cloaked  figure  glided  in. 

It  passed  us  slowly,  walking  with  a  leisurely 
grace  which  seemed  oddly  familiar  to  me. 


QUEST  OF  ROBIN  CAREWE    105 

As  it  passed  us  it  put  a  hand  to  the  cloak  and 
loosened  it  a  little.  Where  had  I  seen  those 
slim,  white  fingers?  why  did  I  know  the  poise 
of  the  muffled  head  so  well?  All  the  cover- 
ings and  cloaks  in  France,  surely,  would  not 
have  disguised  it  from  me;  and  yet  something 
within  me  whispered  a  doubt.  The  figure 
passed  slowly  towards  that  ominous  house — 
reached  a  low  doorway — and  disappered. 
Just  as  it  vanished  the  cloak  slipped  from  its 
head  to  its  shoulders,  disclosing — surely  I  was 
mistaken! — a  gleam  of  chestnut  hair.  I  do 
not  know  why,  but  that  gleam  of  shining  hair 
disappearing  under  the  black  archway  of  the 
door  affected  my  nerves  as  nothing  else  had 
done  that  night.  I  caught  Charles  by  the 
arm,  and  almost  dragged  him  out  through  the 
gate,  careless  whether  we  were  seen  or  not. 

Outside,  in  the  grey,  ghastly  light  of  com- 
ing dawn,  I  looked  at  him  and  asked  a  ques- 
tion to  which  I  wanted  no  answer — nay,  I 
would   have    given  ten  years  of  my  life  to 
know  that  no  answer  could  be  given  to  it. 
"Who  was  that  lady,  Charles?" 
iVVhy  had  I  asked?    I  might  have  known 


106  THE   SILVER   KEY 

that  he  was  far  too  perfectly  trained  not  to 
answer — far  too  sharp-eyed  not  to  have  seen 
what  I  hoped  with  all  my  heart  he  had  failed 
to  see. 

"  It  was  the  cousin  of  Monsieur  Alain, 
monsieur — Milady  Diana  Royal." 

I  turned  from  him  without  a  word,  and 
went  quickly  away  up  the  dark  lane,  now 
brightening  to  a  ghostly  greyness.  What  did 
it  mean?  In  what  fresh  net  of  mystery  was 
I  entangled? 

And  what  kind  of  woman  could  she  be, 
this  English  girl  who  was  able  to  find  her 
way  alone  into  that  terrible  house  at  this  ex- 
traordinary hour? 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  BLACK  RIBBAND 

FOR  three  days,  at  least,  I  kept  away  from  the 
Hotel  de  Chevron  and  Milady  Diana.  In- 
deed, I  made  a  resolution — soon  to  be  broken 
— that  I  would  keep  away  from  both  the 
house  and  the  lady  for  the  rest  of  time.  That 
apparition  of  Milady  Di  stooping  her  bright 
head  under  the  ominous  archway  of  the 
house  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle  had  made  a  very 
unpleasant  impression  upon  my  mind.  I  did 
not  wish  to  see  her  again,  'or  to  get  mixed  up 
in  the  tangle  of  her  affairs.  Was  it  my  busi- 
ness to  carry  her  letters  to  Robin  Carewe? 
Let  her  find  another  messenger  more  suited 
to  the  trade. 

And  yet  I  must  confess  that  those  three 
days  were  very  dull.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Alain  came  in,  in  his  gay,  inconsequent  fash- 
ion, full  of  laughter,  of  absurd  Court  scan- 
dals, of  all  the  idle  tales  and  trifles  which  I 
had  once  found  amusing  enough.  Now  they 

seemed  intolerably    tiresome — I  was  out  of 

107 


io8  THE   SILVER   KEY 

tune  with  them,  with  Alain  himself,  with 
everything  in  the  world.  Three  days  ago  I 
had  been  as  merry  as  anyone,  in  the  great, 
dim  reception-room  of  the  Hotel  de  Chev- 
ron. How  gay  we  had  all  been — the  echo  of 
Diana  Royal's  laughter  hung  still  in  my  ears. 
I  put  the  memory  of  that  night  from  me  with 
a  start;  I  made  excuses  to  Alain  when  he 
tried  to  drag  me  to  visit  his  beautiful  cousin. 
No,  I  would  never  see  her  again.  I  was  re- 
solved. Never! 

But  on  the  fourth  day  after  my  visit  to  the 
Rue  Gabrielle,  Charles  Fichet  came  to  me 
with  a  grave  face. 

"  I  have  just  returned  from  the  ruelle  at 
the  back  of  the  Rue  Gabrielle,"  he  said. 
"  You  will  remember,  monsieur,  what  the 
young  person  told  you  about  the  window. 
There  has  been  nothing  there  until  to-day. 
This  morning  there  is  a  black  ribband  trail- 
ing over  the  sill.  She  has  failed  to  deliver 
the  letter  to  Monsieur  Carewe." 

Somehow  I  had  never  imagined  that  this 
might  happen.  What  was  to  be  done? 

I  was  silent  for  a  moment,    and   Charles 


THE   BLACK   RIBBAND         109 

stood  before  me,  looking,  I  thought,  un- 
usually solemn.  After  all,  the  girl  might 
easily  have  failed  to  deliver  the  letter  to 
Robin  Carewe — there  was  nothing  serious  in 
that.  He  might  not  have  come  again  to  the 
mysterious  house  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle — 
some  unlooked-for  chance  might  even  have 
carried  him  out  of  the  country  for  a  while. 
And  yet — why  did  Charles  look  at  me  like 
that? 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Charles?" 
I  said. 

He  hesitated  for  a  second. 

"  Of  the  black  ribband,  monsieur.  Do  you 
remember  how  pale  mademoiselle  yonder 
looked  when  you  suggested  that  the  token 
should  be  black  if  she  failed  to  deliver  the 
letter?  No,  I  see  you  did  not  remark  it.  (But 
I  did." 

"  And  you  think '?" 

"  I  think,"  he  said  gravely,  "  that  Mon- 
sieur Carewe  is  dead,  monsieur — and  that 
mademoiselle  suspected  as  much  when  you 
saw  her  the  other  night." 

Robin  Carewe  dead!     Here  was  another 


.THE  SILVER  KEY 

coil,  if  it  were  true.  For  I  must  go  to  Diana 
now,  must  tell  her  that  her  letter  could  not 
be  delivered,  must  hint — but  I  could  hint  at 
little,  for  I  did  not  know  enough  to  justify 
even  a  suspicion. 

I  sprang  up  from  my  chair. 

"  I  must  go  to  the  Hotel  de  Chevron  at 
once." 

I  went.  Milady  Diana  was  in  the  gloomy 
reception-room,  and  there  too  was  Madame 
la  Duchesse,  pale  and  impassively  beautiful 
as  ever,  lying  on  her  couch  in  the  darkest  cor- 
ner, with  a  piece  of  neglected  embroidery  in 
her  hand.  When  I  had  paid  my  respects  to 
her,  Milady  Diana  drew  me  to  the  window, 
under  pretence  of  pointing  out  some  object 
in  the  garden  below.  The  instant  we  were 
out  of  ear-shot  she  turned  an  eager  glance 
upon  me. 

"You  did  not  deliver  the  letter,"  she  said, 
in  a  quick  whisper. 

"  I  could  not,  milady,"  I  answered,  won- 
dering how  she  should  know. 

I  thought  an  expression  of  relief  crossed 
her  face. 


THE   BLACK   RIBBAND          in 

"  Ah — that  was  why  he  did  not  come,"  she 
murmured,  almost  to  herself. 

I  confess  to  a  passing  feeling  of  anger, 
natural  enough,  perhaps,  considering  the  cir- 
cumstances. The  letter  had  been  written  to 
make  an  appointment  with  this  laggard  lover 
— and  I  had  been  chosen  to  deliver  it  I 

"  I  am  grieved  to  hear  that  your  friend 
took  so  little  advantage  of  his  privileges, 
milady,"  I  said  stiffly. 

The  sentence,  written  before  me  as  I  sit 
here,  looks  innocent  enough  in  all  conscience. 
But  it  seemed  that  Milady  Diana  read  into 
it  a  hidden  meaning  quite  unknown  to  me. 
She  had  turned  upon  me  in  a  moment,  her 
face  pale  with  fury,  her  eyes  flaming. 

"How  dare  you?"  she  asked,  in  a  choked 
voice.  "  What  right  have  I  given  you  to  say 
that  to  me?  " 

Utterly  taken  aback,  I  stammered  out  an 
apology.  I  suppose  my  manifest  bewilder- 
ment pacified  her.  She  eyed  me  angrily  for 
a  moment  or  two,  and  then  turned  away,  and 
stood  drumming  with  one  small,  clenched 
hand  upon  the  window-frame. 


112 

'A  sudden  desire  to  revenge  myself  upon 
her  for  her  capricious  wrath  seized  me,  and 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  yielded  to  it. 

"  Your  friend  did  not  come,  it  seems,"  I 
said  in  her  ear.  "What  if  he  could  not, 
milady — -what  if  he  could  not,  even  though 
the  letter  had  reached  him,  There  are 
places,  you  know,  from  which  it  is  difficult 
to  return." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  my  mouth 
before  I  regretted  them.  The  sudden  terror 
in  her  eyes  was  pitiful  to  see.  Regardless  of 
her  sister's  presence  she  caught  my  arm  in  an 
agonized  grip. 

"  He  is  hurt — he  is  in  danger?  "  she  gasped 
out.  "  Tell  me  quickly — what  is  it  that  you 
know  about  him?" 

How  she  loved  the  man!  A  sort  of  bitter- 
ness took  hold  of  me  at  the  sight  of  her  face, 
the  sound  of  her  voice.  If  I  had  given  my- 
self to  be  burned  alive  for  her  sake  she  would 
not  have  looked  like  that,  I  thought,  at  the 
idea  of  danger  to  me.  What  was  Robin 
Carewe  that  she  should  care  for  him  so 
much? 


THE   BLACK   RIBBAND          113 

But  I  told  her  of  the  black  ribband  as 
briefly  as  I  could.  The  girl  in  the  Rue 
Gabrielle,  I  said,  had  arranged  that  signal 
in  the  event  of  failing  to  deliver  the  letter. 
My  servant  imagined  something  in  her  look 
which  made  him  suspicious — he  imagined 
that  she  knew  why  Monsieur  Carewe  had  not 
appeared.  Then  I  made  another  shot  at 
random. 

"  But  you,  who  know  the  house  so  well, 
will  find  no  difficulty  in  communicating  with 
the  young  lady,"  I  said.  "  Perhaps  she  will 
tell  you  more  than  she  seemed  inclined  to 
tell  me." 

It  was  her  turn  to  look  puzzled  now. 

"I,  monsieur?  I — know  that  house?  I 
think  you  must  be  dreaming.  I  never  saw 
even  the  outside  of  it  in  my  life." 

I  remembered  the  tall,  cloaked  figure,  the 
white  hand  holding  the  folds  of  drapery,  the 
gleam  of  chestnut  hair  disappearing  under 
the  arch  of  the  door. 

"  No,  milady? "  I  said  very  quietly. 
"  That  is  curious,  for  I  saw  you  enter  it  just 
as  I  left  it." 


ii4  THE    SILVER   KEY 

Of  course  she  was  acting,  but  I  am  bound 
to  say  that  Mistress  Nelly  herself  could  not 
have  done  it  better.  Her  air  of  surprise  was 
perfect.  Unfortunately,  however,  our  con- 
versation was  interrupted  at  that  moment. 
There  was  a  crash  from  the  corner  in  which 
the  Duchesse  reposed,  and  we  turned  towards 
her  with  a  start.  A  valuable  china  bowl 
which  I  had  remarked  on  the  table  behind 
her  now  lay  in  fragments  on  the  floor. 
Milady  Di  ran  to  pick  it  up.  The  Duchesse, 
however,  lay  perfectly  placid  among  her 
cushions,  and  regarded  the  damage  with  ex- 
quisite unconcern. 

"  I  moved  my  arm  quickly,"  I  heard  her 
explaining  as  I  came  up.  "  It  must  have 
been  my  sleeve  that  caught  it.  Pray,  Di,  do 
not  incommode  yourself — 'tis  of  no  conse- 
quence. The  house  is  littered  with  china.  I 
am  glad  there  is  one  piece  less." 

She  spoke  in  a  musical  drawl  which  would 
have  convinced  anyone  that  she  was  incap- 
able of  moving  anything  about  her  with  the 
slightest  haste.  I  did  not  believe  at  the  time 
that  she  made  any  incautious  movement — I 


THE  BLACK  RIBBAND 

do  not  believe  it  now.  If  her  sleeve  over- 
turned the  bowl,  she  had  very  good  reasons 
of  her  own  for  causing  it  to  do  so.  But  I  had 
no  more  conversation  with  Diana.  Imme- 
diately afterwards  the  Due  came  in,  small 
and  shrivelled  as  ever,  and  with  a  suspicious 
glance  for  me,  I  thought,  in  his  uneasy  eyes. 
He  impressed  me,  more  than  any  other  man  I 
ever  met,  as  a  person  who  lives  in  a  continual 
state  of  suspicion,  who  is  never  easy  in  him- 
self as  to  the  intentions  of  those  about  him. 
His  entrance  chilled  the  atmosphere  very  ef- 
fectually. I  was  glad  when  Alain  arrived, 
to  carry  me  off,  with  scant  apologies,  to  look 
at  a  rapier  in  his  own  lodging. 

I  guessed  that  he  had  something  to  com- 
municate which  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
rapier,  and  I  was  right.  Arrived  in  his  room, 
he  burst  out  with  his  news  at  once. 

"  Here's  a  coil  about  that  precious  scamp 
Carewe,  Herve!  The  fellow  has  disap- 
peared, and  old  Sir  Thomas  is  in  full  cry 
after  him.  He  writes  to  me  to  make  inquiries 
— as  if  I  knew  into  what  hole  Master  Robin 
had  chosen  to  sneak!  It  appears  that  Sir 


n6  THE    SILVER   KEY 

Thomas  has  applied  to  your  friend  du  Bac, 
and  can  get  nothing  out  of  him.  He  saw 
Robin  Carewe  last  in  October,  he  says — he 
forgets  the  exact  day,  but  it  was  late  in  the 
month.  Since  then  he  has  not  seen  him  at  all, 
which  tells  Sir  Thomas  little,  since  Robin  is 
known  to  have  left  Paris  on  the  3ist  of  Octo- 
ber, bound  for  a  destination  which  it  seems 
he  kept  mighty  secret,  even  from  the  old  serv- 
ant with  him — and  no  one  has  clapped  an  eye 
on  him  since  that  hour!" 

"  Have  you  questioned  Milady  Diana?  " 
"  Faith,  I've  no  wish  to  come  to  blows  with 
my  venerable  uncle,  as  I  shall  do  if  Robin's 
name  is  mentioned  within  a  mile  of  him. 
'Between  ourselves " — he  laughed  a  little— 
"  I  have  often  thought  he  might  be  glad  if 
Di  took  the  matter  into  her  own  hands,  and 
married  Robin.  But  his  attitude  is  very  cor- 
rect— I  own  that.  He  keeps  Di  mewed  up 
like  any  princess  in  a  fairy-tale.  .  .  .  Come, 
Herve,  what's  to  be  done  about  this  pestilent 
fellow?  It  is  not  our  business  to  find  him, 
but  I  begin  to  be  curious  about  it  all,  I 
confess," 


THE  BLACK  RIBBAND 

I  might  have  owned  to  much  more  than 
curiosity,  but  I  did  not.  The  pale  face  of  the 
girl  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle,  Charles  Fichet's 
suspicions,  and  now  the  anxiety  of  Sir 
Thomas — what  did  it  all  mean?  Was  Robin 
Carewe  really  dead?  And  if  so,  what  strange 
fate  had  linked  mine  with  that  of  a  man  I 
had  never  seen? 

"What  inquiries  have  you  made,  Alain?" 

"  His  old  servant  told  me  all  there  is  to 
tell,  I  fancy.  He  left  Paris  on  the  3ist  of 
October,  very  secretly,  and,  so  far  as  the  man 
knows,  alone.  He  did  not  say  he  would  be 
away  long,  but  he  has  never  returned." 

"Was  du  Bac  the  last  person  besides  the 
servant  who  owns  to  having  seen  him?."  I 
said,  a  sudden  idea  striking  me. 

"  It  seem  so.  They  both  saw  him  on  the 
3ist  of  October — what  do  you  make  of 
that?" 

"  I  make  this  of  it,  my  dear  Alain.  M.  'du 
Bac  is  the  person  who,  unless  I  am  very  much 
mistaken,  is  responsible  for  M.  Carewe's  dis- 
appearance. They  were  intimate,  you  say?  " 

Alain  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


THE   SILVER  KEY 

"  A  good  many  people  are  intimates  of  du 
Bac — very  much  to  their  own  disadvantage, 
I  suspect.  The  man's  made  up  of  devilries, 
and  poor  humanity  is  always  fond  of  med- 
dling with  the  devil  and  his  works,  you  know. 
There's  my  precious  uncle — he  hopes  to 
learn  from  du  Bac  the  secret  of  the 
Philosopher's  Stone.  Madame  la  Duchesse 
trusts  him  to  reveal  to  her  the  secret  of  Eter- 
nal Youth  1"  He  laughed.  "At  any  rate,  du 
Bac  is  all-powerful.  Was  it  the  Philos- 
opher's Stone  or  Eternal  Youth  that  Robin 
Carewe  was  after,  Herve?  I'll  be  bound 
that  he  never  cultivated  his  society  for 
nothing." 

"No.  He  cultivated  du  Bac's  society  be- 
cause du  Bac  was  his  means  of  communica- 
tion with  your  fair  cousin." 

Alain  made  a  movement  of  astonishment. 

"Diana!  But  du  Bac  would  never  risk 
his  influence  with  my  uncle  to  deliver  letters 
from  Robin  to  her — never!" 

"  And  how  do  you  know  he  was  risking  his 
influence?" 

Alain  started  as  though  he  had  been  shot. 


THE   BLACK   RIBBAND        119 

"  You  mean  that  though  my  uncle  out- 
wardly disapproved  of  the  match,  he  secretly 
set  du  Bac  on  to  bring  it  about?  But  he  t 

v 

would  be  an  utter  scoundrel  to  do  such  a 
thing!" 

I  remembered  the  Due's  little  bloodless, 
waxen  face,  and  almost  laughed  at  Alain's 
indignation. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  make  disagreeable  re- 
marks about  a  relation  of  yours,  but  I  should 
say  that  money  was  decidedly  your  uncle's 
weak  point.  Now  you  have  told  me  that 
Milady  Diana's  estates  go  to  her  sister  in  the 
event  of  her  making  this  marriage.  It  would 
of  course  be  considered  highly  dishonorable 
of  the  Due  to  favor  the  match,  considering 
all  the  circumstances;  but  we  may  certainly 
credit  him  with  a  natural,  human  desire  that 
it  might  take  place  without  his  sanction,  and 
leave  him  to  reap  the  benefit  of  it.  Probably 
du  Bac  divined  this  state  of  mind — he  is 
clever  enough — and  saw  an  opportunity  for 
himself  if  he  could  work  upon  it.  If  he 
could  bring  the  marriage  about  with  the  con- 
nivance of  your  uncle,  do  you  not  see  that 


120  THE    SILVER   KEY 

he  would  have  the  Due  for  ever  in  his 
power?  " 

Poor  Alain  sat  aghast  before  the  very  idea 
of  such  duplicity. 

"  Faith,  Herve,  you  make  me  wonder 
whether  I'm  on  my  head  or  my  heels!  Is 
it  possible  that  you  can  be  right?  " 

"  I  fear  I  am.  Your  cousin — I  know  I  can 
trust  you  with  this — your  cousin  gave  me  a 
letter  to  deliver  to  Carewe  at  du  Bac's 
house." 

"And  you  did  it?" 

"  The  letter  was  only  initialled  R.  C.,  and 
I  could  not  very  well  refuse.  But — it  has 
never  reached  Carewe.  That  I  happen  to 
know." 

"  But  what  has  happened  to  the  man?  Has 
du  Bac  cut  his  throat?  " 

"  I  really  cannot  tell  you.  On  the  last  oc- 
casion upon  which  we  met,  he  tried  to  cut 
mine — he  is,  I  believe,  most  desirous  of  cut- 
ting it  at  the  present  moment.  I  am  sure  that 
if  it  suited  his  purpose  to  murder  Carewe  he 
would  not  hesitate  for  an  instant.  He  may 
have  had  a  difference  of  opinion  with 


THE   BLACK   RIBBAND        121 

Carewe,  for  what  we  know;  from  what  I 
have  seen  of  him  I  can  very  well  imagine  a 
tragedy.  And  now  he  is  in  a  dilemma,  owing 
to  these  inquiries  being  made." 

"But  he  must  be  brought  to  justice  I" 

"  I  think  you  will  find  that  process  difficult 
— and  dangerous.  There  are  a  good  many 
powerful  people  in  Paris  who  have  no  sort 
of  interest  in  making  du  Bac's  wrongdoing 
public,  since  to  do  that  would  only  be  to  pro- 
claim their  own.  Your  uncle,  I  imagine,  for 
one,  has  every  reason  to  protect  him — even 
if  he  were  not  admirably  fitted  by  Nature  to 
protect  himself." 

Alain  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"And  Di,  Herve?  Poor  Di— what  will 
she  do  if  Robin  is  really  dead?  She  is  so 
cursedly  fond  of  the  fellow — I  believe  I  am 
jealous  of  him  for  that!  If  'tis  all  true  that 
you  say,  Herve,  I  swear  you  will  have  to  con- 
sole Di.  I  shall  have  no  such  luck,  for  I 
suppose  Fate  has  designed  me  for  the  hard 
part  of  consoling  Sir  Thomas  1"  and  he 
sighed,  ruefully  enough.  He  had  always 
professed  to  detest  Robin  Carewe,  but  I  be- 


122  tTHE   SILVER   KEYj 

lieve  nevertheless  that  the  sigh  was  for  him 
rather  than  for  his  own  fate  at  the  hands  of 
Sir  Thomas. 

"Well,  we  do  not  know  what  has  hap- 
pened yet,"  I  said. 

He  went  off  rather  disconsolately,  to  write, 
I  think,  to  Sir  Thomas.  I  went  back  to  the 
Hotel  d'Oreville,  to  be  met  by  Charles 
Fichet. 

"  The  black  ribband  still  hangs  over  the 
window-sill,  monsieur,"  he  told  me. 

The  black  ribband!  Somehow  I  was  be- 
ginning to  be  of  his  opinion.  I  am  afraid  I 
must  confess  that  the  conviction  of  Robin 
Carewe's  fate  moved  me  little.  If  only  I 
could  have  imagined  that  it  would  be  my  lot 
to  offer  consolation  to  Milady  Diana,  as 
Alain  had  suggested,  I  fear  I  should  have 
dismissed  Carewe  from  my  mind  easily 
enough.  But,  judging  from  the  nature  of  my 
last  interview  with  her,  I  did  not  flatter  my- 
self that  any  consolation  I  could  offer  would 
be  very  gratefully  received;  and  besides, 
again  I  remembered  that  mysterious  cere- 
mony in  which  I  had  played  such  an  inexpli- 


THE  BLACK  RIBBAND        123 

cable  part — that  marriage  which  was  yet  no 
marriage.  I  had  not  the  right  to  offer  con- 
solation to  Diana  Royal,  unfortunately — 
even  if  there  had  been  the  smallest  chance 
that  she  would  have  accepted  it  I 


CHAPTER  IX 

SIR  THOMAS  COMES — AND  GOES 

I  HAD  not  forgotten  my  own  quarrel  with  du 
Bac,  though  the  mysterious  disappearance  of 
Milady  Diana's  lover  had  put  it  out  of  my 
mind  for  the  moment;  and,  though  I  was  un- 
pleasantly interested  in  the  fate  of  Carewe, 
I  was  much  more  interested  in  discovering 
the  secret  of  the  odd  marriage  into  which  the 
alchemist  had  entrapped  me.  But  how  I  was 
to  accomplish  this,  considering  all  the  cir- 
cumstances, it  passed  my  wit  to  understand. 
I  was  in  momentary  expectation  of  some 
fresh  assault  on  the  part  of  du  Bac,  yet  he 
seemed  perfectly  secure  against  any  attack 
from  me.  I  could  not  hang  eternally  about 
the  house  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle,  or  I  should 
bring  disaster  upon  the  girl  who  had  stood 
my  friend  so  bravely,  and  that  was  the  last 
thing  I  wished  to  do,  for  my  own  sake  as  well 
as  hers.  Only  through  her  was  I  able  to 
learn  the  movements  of  my  enemy — only 


SIR  THOMAS  COMES          125 

through  her  was  any  warning  as  to  his  inten- 
tions likely  to  reach  me.  Selfish  reasons 
alone  would  have  kept  me  from  imperilling 
her  in  any  way.  And,  quite  apart  from  self- 
ish reasons,  the  girl  had  impressed  me  so 
favorably  that  I  would  have  done  a  good 
deal  to  serve  her.  She  too  was  a  part  of  the 
general  mystery  which  surrounded  the  most 
mysterious  of  men.  It  was  no  ordinary  fate 
which  had  brought  her  to  that  strange  house, 
and  into  the  power  of  du  Bac.  That  was 
easily  guessed. 

I  suppose  it  would  have  been  wise  to  keep 
away  from  the  Hotel  de  Chevron  after  my 
conversation  with  Alain,  but  fate  seemed  to 
lead  me  there  against  my  will.  I  never  had 
an  opportunity  of  speaking  privately  to 
Milady  Diana,  and  I  thought  at  the  time — 
and  think  still — that  I  had  the  Duchesse  to 
thank  for  that.  She  sat  on  her  couch,  hold- 
ing the  embroidery  which,  so  far  as  I  could 
see,  was  always  in  exactly  the  same  condition 
of  incompleteness;  but  the  fact  that  she  did 
sit  there  was  somehow  always  present  with 
us.  There  was  some  quality  in  the  mere  fact 


126          THE  SILVER  KEY 

of  Her  continual  presence  which  began  at  last 
to  affect  me  unpleasantly.  I  have  always  had 
a  horror  of  being  watched,  and  I  felt  that  she 
was  watching  me,  and  perhaps  Diana  as  well 
— but  certainly  me.  I  had  an  idea  too  that 
beneath  the  placid  exterior  of  that  somewhat 
dull  household,  some  curious  disturbance 
was  taking  place,  in  which,  without  knowing 
in  the  least  what  it  was,  I  yet  felt  myself  in- 
volved. The  Due  had  an  air  more  rattish 
than  usual  when  I  was  present,  and  I  thought 
that  he  often  eyed  me  suspiciously  when  he 
imagined  that  my  attention  was  not  fixed  on 
him.  I  was  quite  certain  as  to  the  internal  dis- 
turbance of  the  Hotel  de  Chevron  when 
Alain  came  in  one  day  when  I  was  present, 
and  announced,  in  his  inconsequent  way,  that 
Sir  Thomas  Carewe  had  arrived  in  Paris. 

"A  very  bad  crossing  he  had  too,  poor 
man,  and  a  wretched  journey,  and  he  looks 
as  dismal  as  any  crow,"  he  said.  "  I  think 
he  is  out  of  tune  with  the  whole  world — you 
should  hear  him  rail  at  King  Charles,  Di! 
Faith,  I  think  the  man's  turning  Puritan  in 
his  old  age." 


SIR  THOMAS  COMES          127 

Milady  Di's  pretty  head  went  into  the  air. 

"  And  pray  what  is  wrong  with  King 
Charles,  Alain?  Is  it  to  spite  His  Majesty 
that  Sir  Thomas  has  left  England?  I  do  not 
think  he  will  be  much  missed  at  Whitehall." 

Alain  laughed. 

"  You  are  right  there,  Di — King  Charles 
has  prettier  faces  to  look  at  than  poor  Sir 
Thomas's  venerable  countenance." 

"But  why  has  he  come?"  the  girl  per- 
sisted. 

"To  find  his  precious  scamp  of  a  son,  if 
you  must  know,"  Alain  answered  unwill- 
ingly. It  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard  him 
mention  Carewe  in  the  Hotel  de  Chevron. 

A  sort  of  hush  fell  on  the  great  room.  The 
Due  smoothed  his  little  pointed  beard  in 
silence;  the  Duchesse  so  far  forgot  her  usual 
calm  as  to  put  a  stitch  in  her  embroidery. 
Milady  Diana  sat  very  straight  and  still  in 
her  chair,  and  looked  at  Alain. 

"Then  it  is  true?"  she  said  at  last. 
"  Robin  cannot  be  found?" 

"Sir  Thomas  has  come  to  see  what  he  can 
do,"  Alain  went  on,  careless  of  consequences 


128  THE    SILVER.    KEY 

now  that  he  had  broached  the  forbidden  sub- 
ject. "  I  believe  he  thinks  Master  Robin  is 
hiding  in  the  pocket  of  your  gown,  ma 
cousine.  Come  now — I  believe  he  is  there 
now,  pinched  in  between  a  love-letter  from 
my  Lord  of  Buckingham,  and  a  curl  from  the 
King's  last  new  wig;  eh,  Milady  Di?"  he 
added  teasingly. 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  of  hearing  from 
His  Grace,"  she  said,  with  spirit,  "and  I  do 
not  keep  His  Majesty's  wigs  in  my  pocket. 
And — and  I  am  not  ashamed  of  my  acquaint- 
ance with  Master  Carewe,  Alain — if  I  knew 
his  whereabouts,  I  should  say  so,"  she  ended, 
with  a  defiant  glance  in  the  direction  of  the 
Due. 

But  it  was  Madame  de  Chevron  who  an- 
swered the  glance. 

"If  you  do  not  know  where  Robin  Carewe 
is,  Diana,"  she  said  languidly,  "  he  must  be 
lost  indeed.  .  .  .  Alain,  the  skein  of  silk  has 
fallen  yonder — I  fear  it  will  get  tangled.  I 
must  trouble  you  to  reach  it  for  me." 

Alain  picked  up  her  silk,  and  she  threaded 
her  needle  with  a  steady  hand.  Then  she 


SIR  THOMAS  COMES          129 

thrust  it  in  her  work,  and  looked  up  at  us 
once  more. 

"  The  last  time  I  saw  Master  Carewe  was 
— now,  let  me  think.  It  must  have  been  early 
in  October,  for  I  remember  him  riding  past 
the  house  in  a  fine  new  riding-suit,  and  the 
trees  were  nearly  the  color  of  his  brown 
coat.  When  did  you  see  him  last,  Di?" 

The  question  was  asked  so  innocently  that 
it  was  impossible  at  the  moment  to  suspect  it 
of  being  a  trap  deliberately  laid — as  I  am 
convinced  now  that  it  was. 

Milady  Diana's  answer  came  swift  and 
sudden,  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  I  saw  Robin  last  on  the  ist  of  Novem- 
ber." 

I  started  involuntarily,  and  I  felt  that 
Alain  did  so  too.  The  ist  of  November! 
That  was  the  day  after  everyone  else  owned 
to  having  seen  him.  What  could  it  mean? 

The  Duchesse,  meditative  and  unmoved, 
thrust  her  needle  through  her  embroidery 
and  drew  it  out  again  before  she  answered. 

"The  ist  of  November — we  were  out  of 
Paris  then — we.  were  at  Chateau  de  Chevron 


130  THE    SILVER   KEY 

for  the  christening.  You  saw  Master  Carewe 
there,  Di?" 

I  think  Milady  Diana  realized,  too  late, 
the  trap  which  had  been  set  for  her;  but  it 
was  not  her  way  to  prevaricate.  Her  head 
rose  a  little,  and  I  saw  a  gleam  as  of  danger 
in  her  eyes. 

"  I  saw  Robin  at  Chevron — on  the  ist  of 
November,"  she  said  quietly. 

The  Due,  emerging  from  his  ominous 
silence,  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  waxen  face 
vicious  with  passion. 

"  And  how  dared  you  see  him  at  all, 
milady? "  he  snarled.  "  How  dared  you, 
considering  all  that  has  passed,  see  him  in  my 
house — on  my  estates?  How  dared  you, 
mademoiselle,  make  an  assignation  with  your 
scoundrelly  lover  at  Chevron?" 

His  attack  was  so  sudden  that  we  all  almost 
jumped.  Then  Diana  rose  to  her  feet,  and 
stood,  very  tall  and  stately,  looking  down 
with  splendid  contempt  on  the  angry  little 
old  man. 

"  You  make  a  mistake,  M.  le  Due,"  she 
said,  "The  women  of  my  family  are  not 


SIR  THOMAS  COMES 

in   the  habit  of  making  assignations — with 
scoundrels.     I   had    business    with    Master 

Carewe — I  am  not  ashamed  of  it." 

i 

The  little  Due  was  livid  with  fury. 

"  And  what  was  your  business,  if  one  may 
ask,  mademoiselle?" 

"  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  know 
all  my  business,  M.  le  Due.  I  will  tell  Sir 
Thomas  Carewe  what  it  was,  if  he  wishes 
to  know — not  you." 

I  thought  the  Due  would  have  fallen  to  the 
ground,  so  great  was  his  wrath  and  astonish- 
ment. 

"  I  think  you  forget  that  you  are  answer- 
able to  me  for  your  conduct,"  he  stammered. 

Diana's  eyes  were  flaming. 

"  I  am  not  answerable  to  you,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  answerable  only  to  His  Majesty,  in 
whose  wardship  my  father  left  me;  and  I 
will  trouble  you  to  leave  me  to  make  my  own 
explanations  to  him  when  he  demands  them 
of  me." 

The  Due  gave  a  vicious  little  snigger  of 
amusement. 

"  His  Majesty  I "  he  said  tauntingly.    "  We 


132  THE    SILVER    KEY 

all  know  what  sort  of  wardship  he  exercises, 
and  what  sort  of  explanations  he  will  exact 
from  a  pretty  face." 

I  had  thought  Milady  Diana  angry  enough 
before,  but  I  was  to  see  now  that  her  anger 
had  profounder  depths  than  any  we  had 
plumbed  hitherto.  The  color  faded  from 
her  face,  leaving  it  white  as  death.  She 
turned  to  Alain. 

"Will  you  give  me  your  escort,  Cousin 
Alain,"  she  said,  "  from  a  house  in  which  I 
have  heard  myself  insulted?" 

Alain  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant.  She 
put  her  hand  through  his  arm,  and  stood  there 
a  moment,  looking  round  her.  They  made  a 
fair  picture  enough  as  they  stood  there — the 
angry,  beautiful  girl  with  her  hand  on  Alain's 
arm,  and  he  with  a  pretty  air  of  protection 
which  sat  upon  him  gallantly. 

"  If  you  dare  take  a  step  with  her,  it  is  at 
your  peril,"  the  Due  cried,  almost  beside  him- 
self. "  You  may  escort  your  cousin  as  a  beg- 
gar, Monsieur  de  Chevron — remember  that!  " 

"  Faith,  I  am  always  remembering  it — 
'tis  nothing  fresh!"  poor  Alain  answered. 


SIR  THOMAS  COMES          133 

"  Come,  Di — I  wish  for  my  own  sake  that  I 
had  more  to  lose  for  yours." 

It  was  the  only  time  I  ever  heard  him  allude 
to  the  parsimonious  bearing  of  his  illustrious 
uncle,  but  I  confess  that  he  brought  his  stroke 
in  very  neatly.  Milady  Diana,  however, 
seemed  for  a  moment  to  hesitate. 

"  No,  I  did  not  mean  to  drag  you  into  the 
quarrel,"  she  said,  and  sought  to  disengage 
her  hand.  "  This  is  no  business  of  yours, 
Alain — I  would  not  have  you  suffer  for  my 
folly." 

"  Your  quarrel  is  mine,  Di! "  the  boy  cried. 
"  Do  you  think  I  would  desert  you  for  love  of 
the  miserable  pittance  Uncle  de  Chevron  al- 
lows me?  I  am  not  so  mean  as  that.  Come 
with  me;  Her  Grace  of  Orleans  will  protect 
you,  for  love  of  King  Charles,  if  not  you. 
D'Oreville,  open  the  doorl" 

I  was  glad  enough  to  obey  his  imperious 
order  and  escape  from  these  recriminations,  in 
which  I  had  cut  the  sorry  figure  of  a  stranger 
in  the  midst  of  a  family  dispute.  I  bowed  to 
the  Duchess,  who  was  placidly  threading  her 
needle  again,  and  made  the  best  of  my  way  out 


134  'THE   SILVER   KEY 

of  the  room.  Milady  Di  swept  down  the 
staircase  with  the  dignity  of  an  offended 
queen,  and  never  cast  an  eye  on  either  of  her 
attendant  cavaliers  until  we  had  reached  the 
street.  Then  she  stood  still  and  turned  upon 
us.  She  had  mastered  her  anger,  and,  to 
my  astonishment,  there  was  a  smile  on  her 
face. 

"  This  is  a  pretty  adventure,  M.  d'Ore- 
villel"  she  said.  "I  fear  you  will  write 
me  down  a  sad  fire-brand." 

"  You  were  in  the  right,"  I  answered — who 
could  have  answered  her  otherwise?  "  But 
it  is  cold  here ;  let  me  throw  my  cloak  round 
your  shoulders,  milady," — for  she  was  in  the 
blue  dress  I  loved,  and  her  neck  was  bare  to 
the  sharp  winter  air.  "  And  now  whither  are 
we  going?  to  the  Louvre,  I  suppose,  to  Ma- 
dame d'Orleans?  " 

She  drew  the  cloak  round  her  with  a  little 
frown  of  perplexity. 

"  Yes,  to  the  Louvre — presently.  But  first 
I  want  you  to  take  me  to  Sir  Thomas  Carewe's 
lodging.  I  must  see  him — I  tell  you  I  must 
see  him!"  she  urged,  reading  doubt  in  the 


SIR  THOMAS  COMES 

faces  of  Alain  and  myself.  "  I  must  speak  to 
him  alone — I  have  something  for  his  private 
ear  which  is  most  important.  Come,  Alain 
— you  are  not  going  to  make  objections  to 
that?" 

"  Oh,  have  things  your  own  way,  my  dear!  " 
Alain  sighed.  "  If  I  might  make  a  remark, 
'tis  only  that  it  seems  a  pity  Robin  Carewe 
was  ever  born — he  has  made  a  nice  coil  for 
us  to-day." 

I  do  not  think  Milady  Di  at  all  assented  to 
this  opinion,  but  to  Sir  Thomas  we  went,  with- 
out further  ado.  And  Sir  Thomas  we  found, 
in  due  course — a  big,  jovial  Englishman,  very 
portly  of  figure  and  red  of  face,  but  obviously 
weary  and  out  of  temper.  He  brightened  at 
sight  of  Diana,  and  welcomed  her  heartily. 
It  was  plain  that  he  by  no  means  wished  to 
visit  the  offences  of  my  Lord  of  Huntingford 
towards  him  and  his  son  upon  my  Lord  of 
Huntingford's  daughter. 

"  'Tis  worth  crossing  in  a  vile  sea  to  look 
in  your  face  again,  my  dear,"  he  said  genially. 
"  Come  to  think,  now,  I  don't  wonder  my  boy 
was  of  the  same  opinion.  And  I  am  glad  to  be 


136  THE    SILVER    KEY 

away  from  Whitehall,  where  there's  not  an 
honest  man  left,  nor  a  woman  you  would  ask 
to  sit  at  table  with  your  daughters." 

Milady  Di  began  to  laugh  a  little. 

"  Ah,  Sir  Thomas,  is  it  the  old  song?  "  she 
said.  "  Is  there  not  one  honest  man  left?  I 
am  sure  His  Sacred  Majesty  pretends  to  none 
of  the  virtues  which  he  does  not  possess,  at 
any  rate." 

"  You  are  right  there.  He  is  honest  enough 
in  that.  But  we  shall  never  agree  about  the 
King,  Di,  for  we  never  did.  I  fought  for  his 
blessed  father,"  the  old  man  said  earnestly, 
"  and  lost  near  all  I  had  in  the  world,  and  my 
poor  Ralph  and  Rupert — as  gallant  lads,  M. 
d'Oreville,  as  ever  handled  a  sword! — and  by 
God!  sir,  I  would  lose  them  again  in  the  same 
cause.  But  it's  a  sad  end  to  our  fighting,  and  a 
sad  answer  to  our  praying,  and  a  poor  pay- 
ment for  all  the  blood  of  good  men  and  true 
that  has  been  spilt  for  the  Right  Divine  of 
Kings,  to  see  His  Majesty  among  his  spaniels 
and  his  women — odds  fish !  the  women  are  not 
fit  to  look  at  the  dogs — and  Mistress  Gwyn 
and  my  Lady  Castlemaine  flaunting  in  the 


JIR  THOMAS  COMES          137 

high  places,  and  the  poor  Queen  not  able  to 
say  a  word.  And  that  man  is  the  Blessed 
Martyr's  son!" 

"  I  never  heard  the  fact  doubted,"  Diana 
said  demurely.  "  And  the  Blessed  Martyr 
himself  could  not  have  been  a  kinder  friend 
to  me,  Sir  Thomas,  so  you  must  not  say  a  word 
to  me  against  King  Charles.  Perhaps  if  we 
lived  the  life  he  was  forced  into  as  a  boy,  we 
should  none  of  us  be  as  good  as  we  are.  He 
had  a  hard  time  of  it." 

"  Body  o'  me,  but  he's  made  up  for  it  since," 
Sir  Thomas  growled. 

"  He  had  much  to  make  up,"  Diana  said 
gently.  "  Much  that  may  never  be  made  up 
to  him  by  any  man,  Sir  Thomas.  Come,  we 
will  not  talk  of  His  Majesty,  for  the  subject 
displeases  you,  I  know.  I  have  some  matters 
for  your  private  ear." 

So  Alain  and  I  left  them  together,  and  re- 
freshed ourselves  with  wine  in  an  outer  cham- 
ber, where  Alain,  with  a  roguish  twinkle  of 
the  eye,  drank  to  King  Charles. 

"  And  confusion  to  his  enemies  I  "  he  added, 
laughing.  "  That  worthy  old  gentleman  yon- 


138  THE   SILVER   KEY 

der  would  drink  to  that  toast,  I'll  warrant — 
yes,  and  spit  anyone  who  said  a  word  about 
it  with  his  tough  old  rapier,  as  soon  as  look  at 
him.  Why,  he  limps  still  from  a  wound  he 
got  in  Worcester  fight.  I  wonder  what  the 
mischief  my  cousin  is  confessing  to  him? 
They  are  a  long  time  at  it." 

They  were.  The  short  winter  twilight  was 
already  falling,  and  Alain's  patience  was  most 
woefully  on  the  wane,  when  the  door  of  the 
inner  room  opened,  and  Sir  Thomas,  with  his 
bluff,  good-natured  air  of  ceremony,  handed 
Milady  Diana  forth. 

"  We  have  kept  you  a  long  while,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  come  on  a  bootless  errand,  I  find. 
To-morrow  I  return  to  England." 

"  To  Whitehall  and  King  Charles,"  Diana 
added,  with  a  sly  smile.  "  My  humble  duty 
to  His  Majesty." 

But  Sir  Thomas  did  not  respond  to  her  chal- 
lenge. I  wondered  what  she  had  told  him, 
for  he  seemed  dull  and  grave.  The  winter 
twilight  was  cold  and  dreary  enough  as  we 
left  him  and  set  out  for  the  Louvre.  Diana 
seemed  little  inclined  for  conversation.  Only 


SIR  THOMAS  COMES         139 

once  did  Alain  try  to  draw  her  from  her 
silence. 

"  You  are  a  bit  of  a  witch,"  he  said,  "  to 
send  Sir  Thomas  away  in  as  great  a  hurry  as 
he  came.  What  of  Robin,  ma  cousine?  How 
is  he  to  be  found  now?  " 

She  flashed  a  sudden  glance  at  him. 

"  Do  you  think  any  of  us  will  find  him?  " 
she  answered,  and  I  thought  her  lip  quivered 
as  she  spoke.  "  It  will  need  a  greater  than 
Sir  Thomas  to  do  that." 

"  And  who  is  that?  "  Alain  asked  quickly. 

But  she  did  not  answer. 


CHAPTER  X 

"LA   BERGERE   D'ANGLETERRE  " 

I  HAD  read  omens  in  that  chill  twilight  which 
witnessed  Milady  Di's  mysterious  interviews 
with  Sir  Thomas  Carewe,  and  her  hurried 
flight  to  the  Louvre,  to  place  herself  under  the 
protection  of  the  youngest  sister  of  her  sover- 
eign, the  charming  Princess  who,  transplanted 
a  tiny  flower,  to  French  soil,  had  grown  to  be 
the  greatest  ornament  of  our  Court.  But  my 
misgivings  found  little  fulfilment.  The  day 
on  which  Diana  Royal  entered  the  Louvre 
was  destined  to  be  the  first  of  many  happy 
days  for  me. 

For  Alain,  who,  despite  his  teasing  ways 
and  bantering  tone,  cherished  a  very  real  af- 
fection and  admiration  for  his  cousin,  could 
not  naturally  desert  her  in  their  common  dis- 
grace. The  doors  of  the  Louvre,  the  Palais 
Royal,  Saint-Cloud,  or  Fontainebleau  were, 
of  course,  always  open  to  one  of  the  house  of 
Chevron;  but  Alain  soon  managed  to  establish 
himself  in  these  high  places  of  the  earth  in  a 

140 


"BERGERE   D'ANGLETEP,RE  "    141 

more  private  and  familiar  fashion  entirely  his 
own.  One  morning  he  dragged  me  forth  upon 
a  pretence  of  taking  the  air  in  my  company — 
the  air,  to  tell  the  truth,  being  raw  and  chill, 
and  scarce  worth  the  trouble — and,  before  I 
knew  what  he  was  doing,  I  was  in  the  Palais 
Royal,  where  Alain,  by  appearance,  seemed 
very  much  at  home.  He  had,  plainly,  the 
secret  of  small,  winding  staircases  and  little 
doors  which  lurked  in  corners  where  no  one 
would  have  looked  for  them.  Fie  led  me  at 
last  to  a  small  room  overlooking  gardens  grey 
with  morning  mist,  where  Milady  Di,  in  a 
muslin  morning  dress,  was  waiting  to  receive 
us.  Her  welcome  was  warm  enough  to  lend 
gaiety  to  the  grey  morning,  the  chilling  air. 
Even  to  me,  I  noticed,  her  manner  had  a  cor- 
diality she  had  never  shown  in  the  Hotel  de 
Chevron.  We  were  companions  in  misfor- 
tune, it  seemed  to  say,  and  bound  to  befriend 
each  other.  In  truth,  I  was  not  disposed  to 
quarrel  with  any  misfortune  which  was  to 
bring  me  into  favor  with  Diana  Royal. 

Milady  Di  and  Alain  had  been  chattering 
together  for  some  while  when  the  door  opened 


142  (THE   SILVER   KEY 

upon  a  lady  very  simply  dressed  in  a  white 
robe  plainer  even  than  Diana's,  and  carrying 
a  little  white-and-tan  spaniel  in  her  arms. 
;  I  should  have  hardly  taken  her  for  the  ra- 
diant divinity  of  so  many  fetes,  upon  whom 
I  had  gazed  so  often  from  a  distance, 
but,  seen  in  this  homely  and  simple  guise, 
shorn  of  jewels  and  ornaments,  she  gained 
a  charm  worth  all  the  splendor  she  lost, 
or  so  at  least  I  thought.  Her  manner  had 
so  much  sweetness  that,  after  the  first  glance, 
one  did  not  notice  the  sad  ravages  which 
illness  and  unhappiness  had  made  in  the 
once  remarkable  beauty  of  the  English  prin- 
cess ;  her  eyes  lighted  up  with  so  much  wit  and 
intelligence  that  one  did  not  care  to  see  how 
worn  her  face  was,  or  observe  the  unnatural 
thinness  which  her  dress  wTas  designed  to  hide. 
Her  reception  of  Alain  and  myself  was  kind 
in  the  extreme,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
Diana  stood  high  in  her  affection. 

For  a  long  while  she  kept  us  there,  talking, 
now  of  the  latest  masque  at  Court,  now  of  the 
pretty  tricks  of  her  little  dog,  with  which  she 
played  all  the  time  she  spoke,  and  not  many; 


"  BERGERE    D'ANGLETERRE  "    143 

minutes  had  passed  before  I  realized  that  here 
indeed  was  that  incomparable  "Madame" 
whose  grace  and  sweetness  had  long  been  the 
admiration  of  all  Paris.  She  had  in  a  high 
degree  that  charm  which  is  said  to  belong  to 
all  of  her  house,  even  the  meanest  and  the 
worst;  a  charm  which  defies  description,  but 
which  characterized  her  lightest  action  and 
most  idle  speech.  I  noticed,  also,  that  she 
spoke  with  an  affection  which  seemed  to  me 
very  touching  of  her  own  country,  which,  in 
her  earliest  years  at  least,  had  treated  her  so 
ill,  and  of  which  she  could  have  known  but 
little. 

"  And  I  have  great  hope  of  seeing  England 
again,"  she  said,  stroking  the  soft  coat  of  her 
pet  and  looking  at  us  with  a  smile.  "  If  all 
goes  well,  I  shall  voyage  to  Dover,  and  per- 
haps to  London,  and  visit  my  dear  brother  for 
a  few  days ;  and  perhaps  I  shall  take  the  Hunt- 
ress Diana  back  with  me  to  Whitehall,  which 
has  been  a  wilderness,  I  hear,  since  she  left  it. 
Oh,  to  see  the  white  cliffs  again,  what  happi- 
ness that  will  be!" 

"  You  forget  how  little  happiness  there  will 


144  THE    SILVER    KEY 

be  in  Paris  in  the  absence  of  your  Royal  High- 
ness," I  told  her. 

But  she  shook  her  head  at  that. 

"  Ah,  M.  d'Oreville,  I  am  one  of  those  un- 
happy beings  who  never  had  a  country!  I 
have  been  an  exile  since  I  was  two  years  old ; 
but  the  only  native  land  I  have  lies  on  the 
other  side  of  the  sea." 

It  was  not  perhaps  very  diplomatic  to  speak 
thus  to  me,  a  Frenchman,  and  almost  a  stran- 
ger, though  indeed  I  too  had  English  blood 
in  my  veins,  through  my  grandmother,  who 
had  been  the  toast  of  half  England  in  her 
youth,  and  whom  I  remember  as  a  most  not- 
able and  beautiful  old  lady,  who  brought  me 
up,  and  impressed  me  with  a  vast  respect  for 
any  country  fortunate  enough  to  have  given 
birth  to  so  remarkable  a  woman.  It  was  not 
diplomatic,  perhaps,  as  I  say,  to  speak  so 
freely  to  me,  but  I  could  understand  her  feel- 
ing well  enough  not  to  resent  it,  for  indeed 
she  had  been  an  exile  ever  since  her  governess 
had  escaped  to  France  with  her  as  a  child. 

I  think  she  saw  that  I  understood,  for  she  be- 
gan to  talk  to  me  as  I  venture  to  think  she  did 


"BERGERE   D'ANGLETERtfE "    145 

to  few  except  her  intimates — and  of  those  she 
had  few.  Her  hope  of  visiting  England  that 
year  seemed  to  have  taken  great  hold  upon 
her.  She  was  set  on  going,  if  her  husband 
could  be  induced  to  consent,  and  she  spoke 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  of  the  joy  with  which 
she  should  meet  again  her  brothers,  the  King 
and  the  Duke  of  York — but  most  of  all,  I 
think,  the  King.  Indeed,  she  had  for  King 
Charles  an  affection  more  devoted  and  roman- 
tic in  character  than  that  which  most  sisters 
feel  for  their  brothers.  I  could  understand 
that  he  had  always  been  the  most  romantic 
figure  in  her  life,  this  young  King  doomed  to 
exile  and  cruel  poverty  and  hardships  for  so 
many  years,  and  then  so  gloriously  restored 
to  all  his  possessions.  Through  dark  days  of 
depression,  when  he  had  been  driven  from 
Court  to  Court,  as  now  one  sovereign  and  now 
another  found  it  necessary  to  conciliate  his 
enemies — through  days  of  personal  priva- 
tions, when  she  and  her  Royal  mother,  the 
Queen  Dowager  of  England,  had  not  had 
enough  fire  to  warm  them,  or  enough  food  to 
eat — she  had  been  used  to  look  always,  as  a 


I46  THE    SILVER   KEY 

sort  of  consolation,  towards  the  dim  figure  of 
this  young  King,  struggling  with  worse  diffi- 
culties still,  who  was  yet  to  enjoy  his  own 
again,  and  retrieve  the  fortunes  of  her  great 
but  fallen  house.  Even  as  a  child,  all  her 
thoughts  had  been  fixed  upon  her  brother,  of 
whom  she  knew  so  little,  but  who  was  yet  to 
play  so  great  a  part  in  her  life.  Alas,  poor 
princess,  her  later  years  brought  her  nothing 
to  usurp  the  place  which  King  Charles  held 
in  her  heart!  Her  husband,  the  ridiculous 
dandy  whose  favorite  amusement  it  was  to 
dress  himself  in  women's  clothes,  made  her 
miserable  with  suspicion  and  jealousy,  and  al- 
lowed the  most  unworthy  of  his  favorites  to 
persecute  her;  her  little  son,  the  Due  de  Val- 
ois,  was  dead.  It  was  no  wonder  that,  in  the 
midst  of  so  many  disappointments,  she  clung 
the  more  fondly  to  the  one  human  being  who 
had  never  disappointed  her,  and  who,  what- 
ever his  sins  and  follies  towards  others,  had 
nothing  but  affection  for  his  "  dearest  Min- 
ette,"  as  he  called  her.  It  was  no  wonder, 
either — or  so  it  seemed  to  me — that  she  turned 
with  longing  tenderness  from  the  land  of  her 


"  BERGERE  D'ANGLETERRE  »    147 

adoption,  in  which  so  much  sorrow  had  come 
to  her,  towards  the  land  of  her  birth,  the  perils 
of  which  she  could  hardly  remember. 

"  There  is  a  foolish  name  for  me  at  Court," 
she  told  me,  with  her  inimitable  smile,  the 
gaiety  and  sweetness  of  which  I  can  never  for- 
get; "  a  foolish  name — and  yet  I  love  it.  They 
call  me  *  la  bergere  d'Angleterref  the  Eng- 
lish shepherdess.  You  see,  they  cannot  for- 
get my  birth,  M.  d'Oreville,  any  more  than  I 
can  forget  it;  and  I  think  I  would  rather 
be  an  English  shepherdess  than  Queen  of 
France." 

Seeing  her  mood,  I  ventured  to  tell  her  of 
my  grandmother,  and  found  that  she  had 
heard  the  Queen  Dowager,  her  mother,  speak 
of  her.  She  seemed  even  more  gracious  after 
that,  and  spoke  long  and  with  the  greatest  in- 
terest of  England,  and  of  the  short  visit  which 
she  had  paid  the  King  before  her  marriage — 
the  visit  which  began  and  ended  so  tragically, 
with  the  deaths,  through  small-pox,  of  her  sis- 
ter the  Princess  of  Orange,  and  her  brother 
the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  yet  to  which  she 
seemed  to  look  back  as  the  happiest  period  of 


148  THE   SILVER   KEY 

her  life.  Not  all  the  splendid  festivities  of 
Paris  were  as  dear  to  her  memory  as  that  one 
English  Christmas  which  she  had  spent  at 
Whitehall.  Here  again  it  was  plain  that  the 
presence  of  King  Charles  had  been  the  great- 
est happiness  of  all  to  her.  She  spoke  of  his 
kindness,  his  unfailing  good  nature,  of  the 
coolness  which  he  had  shown  during  so  many 
dangers ;  she  told  me  of  his  marvellous  escape 
after  Worcester,  through  a  country  swarming 
with  hostile  troops ;  and  when  at  last  the  flight 
of  time  brought  the  conversation  to  an  end, 
she  roused  herself  to  dismiss  us  with  a  sigh,  as 
though  waking  from  a  pleasant  dream. 

"  M.  de  Chevron  comes  often  to  see  his  cou- 
sin," she  said,  as  I  kissed  her  hand  in  farewell. 
"  I  hope  he  will  bring  you  again,  to  talk  to 
me  of  England." 

I  have  given  that  conversation  at  length, 
for  the  sake  of  the  associations  it  has  for  me. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  ever  had  the  honor  of 
being  received  by  Madame  d'Orleans,  but  it 
was  by  no  means  the  last.  Alain  went  often 
to  see  his  cousin,  as  I  have  said,  and  it  became 
an  understood  thing  that  I  should  accompany 


BERGERE  D'ANGLETERRE  "    149 

him.  As  often  as  not,  the  Princess  Henrietta 
was  present,  and  her  presence,  instead  of  being 
a  constraint  upon  us,  lent  an  additional  charm 
to  those  meetings.  Often  she  would  read  us 
a  passage  from  a  book  or  a  play  which  had 
struck  her;  sometimes  Diana  would  induce 
her  to  sing  to  us,  which  she  did  in  a  most 
sweet  voice,  and  with  a  grace  and  simplicity 
sweeter  still,  asking  us  in  turn  what  we  would 
have  her  sing,  and  always  afterwards  remem- 
bering which  particular  song  had  pleased  one 
or  the  other  of  us  best,  and  singing  it  unasked 
on  some  other  occasion,  when  she  wished 
to  show  that  person  unusual  favor.  And, 
though  often  suffering  in  bpdy  and  sad  in 
mind — for  her  health  was  of  the  worst,  and 
Monsieur,  her  husband,  was  always  torment- 
ing her  with  his  caprices  and  ill  moods,  and 
the  insensate  fondness  he  had  at  that  time  for 
the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine — her  welcome  was 
never  less  kind,  her  interest  in  our  doings 
never  less  sincere.  In  the  midst  of  her  own 
troubles,  of  which  not  the  least  at  that  time 
was  the  fear  that  Monsieur's  ill  temper  might 
prevent  her  longed-for  visit  to  England,  she 


150  THE   SILVER   KEY, 

had  time  to  sympathize  with  Alain  in  his  dis- 
grace with  his  uncle,  with  Diana  in  her  anx- 
iety for  the  fate  of  Robin  Carewe,  with  me  in 
another  matter,  of  which  it  is  not  yet  the  sea- 
son to  speak. 

For  Diana,  as  I  guessed,  had  told  Madame 
of  her  love  for  Robin  Carewe.  I  know  not 
whether  the  Princess  approved,  but  she  was 
plainly  much  attached  to  Diana,  and  delighted 
frankly  in  the  girl's  beauty  and  brilliancy. 
One  of  the  most  charming  recollections  I  have 
of  this  most  charming  of  princesses  is  of  her 
eagerness  to  adorn  her  young  protegee  for  any 
festivity  at  which  she  was  to  appear.  A 
masque  was  in  progress  at  the  Louvre  just 
then,  at  which  Diana  was  to  appear,  and  I  re- 
member Madame  making  her  put  on  the  dress 
she  was  to  wear,  and  show  it  to  us,  and  I  re- 
member too  how  anxious  she  was  that  it  should 
do  Milady  Di  justice. 

For  myself,  I  shall  always  look  back  on 
those  days — they  were  but  too  few,  and  passed 
all  too  quickly! — with  pleasure  and  regret. 
Milady  Di  had  fairly  taken  me  into  her 
friendship  since  our  eventful  last  meeting  in 


the  Hotel  de  Chevron.  She  spoke  to  me 
frankly  of  her  anxiety  that  Robin  Carewe 
should  be  found,  she  made  no  secret  of  her 
interest  in  him.  With  her  departure  from 
the  Hotel  de  Chevron  she  had  thrown  away 
any  disguise  which  she  might  have  worn  be- 
fore the  keen  eyes  of  the  rattish  little  Due. 
Indeed,  it  seemed  to  me  that  sometimes  she 
showed  her  interest  in  Master  Carewe  rather 
more  plainly  than  was  natural — that  she  pa- 
raded it  rather  defiantly,  as  though  to  say, 
"  This  is  my  choice.  Who  shall  say  me  nay?  " 
In  all  the  friendliness  she  showed  me  I  felt 
this  attitude,  I  divined  these  words,  though 
unspoken,  upon  her  lips.  Nay,  her  very 
friendliness  but  made  her  meaning  plainer. 
Her  friendship  she  was  generous  with,  be- 
cause she  had  nothing  else  to  give.  I  was 
very  well  to  dance  attendance  on  her,  to  fetch 
and  carry  for  her,  to  pay  her  compliments, 
to  pick  up  her  fan,  or  match  her  silks — there 
you  had  my  office  in  her  life.  I  meant  no 
more  than  convenience — much  less  than 
Alain,  for  whom  she  had  a  real  affection. 
Twenty  times,  by  a  word,  by  a  look,  careless, 


152  THE   SILVER    KEY 

and,  as  it  seemed,  unconscious,  she  forced  this 
fact  upon  me;  twenty  times  I  resented  it  at 
heart,  and  made  no  sign.  I  dare  say  I  cut  a 
poor  figure  at  that  time,  considering  all  things, 
but  I  never  had  much  vanity,  so  the  recollec- 
tion of  it  does  me  no  great  harm.  If  I  felt 
resentment  for  one  moment,  it  vanished  in  the 
next  at  a  smile  from  the  Huntress  Diana. 

So  the  days  went  by,  pleasantly  enough,  un- 
til one  evening  late  in  January.  Madame 
d'Orleans  was  in  residence  at  Saint-Germain, 
and  Alain  and  I  were  also  at  the  Chateau, 
preparing  for  a  masque  that  Madame  had  in 
hand.  It  was  an  evening  unusually  warm 
for  the  time  of  year,  and  the  three  of  us — 
Milady  Di,  Alain,  and  I — had  strayed  from 
the  room  where  we  had  been  chattering  of 
designs  for  our  dresses  with  Madame,  on  to 
the  terrace,  into  the  cool  night  air.  Light 
from  the  windows  fell  upon  the  terrace,  and 
Madame,  who  feared  to  venture  with  us,  had 
taken  up  Milady  Di's  guitar.  We  heard 
her  thrumming  the  strings  as  we  stood 
there. 

Alain  had  wandered  a  little  way  from  us, 


"  BERGERE  D'ANGLETERRE  "    153 

and  as  we  stood  there  alone  Milady  Diana 
took  a  paper  from  the  pocket  in  which  her 
cousin  had  once  playfully  accused  her  of  keep- 
ing love-letters  from  His  Grace  of  Bucking- 
ham, and  handed  it  to  me. 

"  Madame  had  news  from  His  Majesty  to- 
day," she  said.  "  Read  what  counsel  he  gives 
me,  M.  d'Oreville,  and  see  if  you  be  of  his 
mind.  I  confess  I  think  'tis  wise  advice  he 
gives,  though  hard  to  follow,"  and  she  sighed 
a  little,  and  turned  from  me,  leaning  her  arms 
on  the  stone  balustrade,  and  looking  with 
thoughtful  eyes  into  the  night.  I  took  the 
letter  and  read  it  by  the  light  streaming  from 
Madame's  apartments — to  the  tinkling  of  the 
guitar  with  which  Madame's  ringers  trifled 
so  musically. 

"  Sweetheart,"  the  King  wrote  (I  thought 
it  mighty  impertinent  of  His  Majesty,  but  I 
suppose  he  meant  no  harm),  "Sir  Thomas 
hath  told  me  of  the  matter  you  know  of,  and 
I  write  with  my  own  hand  to  tell  you  of  the 
great  vexation  I  have  to  hear  you  are  in  trou- 
ble. \Tis  against  my  liking,  as  you  know,  for 
I  gave  you  long  since  to  understand  how  little 


154  THE   SILVER   KEY 

affection  I  had  for  a  certain  person  you  think 
differently  of.  But  in  these  matters  I  suppose 
we  must  please  our  own  fancy,  which  indeed 
I  fear  is  my  own  habit,  as  it  seems  to  be  yours ! 
Nevertheless,  we  must  find  the  man,  with  as 
little  loss  of  time  as  may  be,  and  as  much 
discretion.  I  have  all  the  hopes  in  the  world 
that  I  may  see  my  sister  soon  in  England,  and 
— though  I  can  fancy  the  notion  little  to  your 
taste — I  would  counsel  you  to  do  nothing  until 
that  is  accomplished.  She  will  bring  you  in 
her  train,  and  we  can  rack  our  heads  together 
over  what  is  to  be  done  with  the  Uncle,  and 
my  Lord  Huntingford  his  Will. 

"  The  Queen  charges  me  with  a  hundred 
messages,  and  would  have  you  tell  her  much 
of  the  fashions  they  have  in  Paris  when  you 
come,  and  hath  bidden  me  make  inquiry  of 
you  concerning  them,  but  to  tell  the  truth  I 
am  so  sleepy,  being  but  just  returned  from 
seeing  a  new,  bad  play,  that  I  fear  I  have  for- 
got all  things,  save  that  I  am,  with  all  the 
kindness  imaginable,  your  old  playfellowe, 

"  C.  R." 

I  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  with  the  graci- 


"  BERGERE  D'ANGLETERRE  " 

cus,  kindly  little  note  in  my  hand.  Clearly, 
here  was  help  in  sight  greater  than  any  Sir 
Thomas  Carewe  could  have  afforded.  But 
at  the  time  I  thought  little  of  that  What  I 
thought  was,  how  would  Paris  be  bearable 
without  Milady  Di? 

"You  will  go?"  I  asked  her  presently. 

She  took  the  King's  letter  from  me,  and 
folded  it  before  she  replied. 

"  There  is  nothing  else  to  be  done." 

There  was  not — I  knew  it  well  enough. 
She  would  go,  and  most  likely  she  would  not 
come  back.  People  are  soon  found,  I  im- 
agine, when  kings  resolve  to  be  their  finders. 
She  would  return  to  England  and  marry 
Robin  Carewe,  and  I  should  never  see  her 
again.  Perhaps  the  thought  was  in  her  own 
mind — I  know  not.  But  suddenly  she  turned 
and  spoke,  quickly,  impulsively,  with  a  sort  of 
warmth  and  softness  in  her  voice  which  took 
me  by  surprise. 

"  I — I  shall  not  forget  the  days  I  have  spent 
here  with  you  and  Alain,  M.  d'Oreville,"  she 
said.  "You  have  been  so  kind — I  owe  you 
so  much.  Do  not  think  that,  whatever  hap- 


156  THE    SILVER   KEY 

pens,  I  shall  forget.  I  do  not  forget  easily — 
the  Fighting  Royals,  as  the  King  calls  us,  do 
not  forget  those  who  serve  them.  And — and 
some  day  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again." 

In  an  instant  she  was  gone,  a  white  ghost 
fading  into  the  gloom,  and  I  stood  there  alone, 
feeling  a  horrible  sort  of  sadness  coming  upon 
me — a  horrible  foretaste  of  what  was  to  be 
when  Milady  Di  was  safe  in  England,  and  I 
left  behind.  And  as  I  stood  there  Madame 
began  to  sing  an  old  song  which  she  loved, 
I  know  not  why,  and  which  she  used  to  sing 
sometimes,  as  she  said,  not  to  please  us,  but 
herself.  Somehow,  whenever  I  think  of  that 
moment — and  how  many  times  have  I  not 
thought  of  it! — I  always  remember  that  song, 
and  Madame's  sweet,  plaintive  voice  coming 
clearly  through  the  stillness  of  the  night,  and 
the  faint  metallic  tinkle  of  the  guitar. 

"  Si  le  roi  me  donnait 

Paris,  sa  grande  ville, 
Et  qu'il  me  fallut  quitter 

L'amour  de  ma  vie, 
Je  dirais  au  roi  Henri, 

'  Reprenez   votre   Paris, 
J*aime  mieux  ma  mie,  o  gue, 
J'aime  rnieux  ma  mie ! '  " 


"  BERGERE  D'ANGLETERRE  "    157 

Well,  the  King  would  not  offer  me  Paris 
to  leave  Milady  Di;  and  Milady  Di  would 
certainly  leave  me  ere  long,  so  there  was  not 
much  sense  in  the  song.  And  yet  the  song 
seemed  to  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  have  known 
before — that  I  loved  the  Huntress  Diana  a 
hundred  times  more  than  Robin  Carewe  had 
ever  done  ere  he  was  lost,  or  ever  would  do 
when  he  was  found,  as  he  soon  would  be,  and 
a  plague  upon  him  for  it!  Why  had  the  fel- 
low ever  been  lost — or  why,  being  lost,  should 
he  be  found  again?. 


CHAPTER   XI 

A  RESCUE! 

IT  was  really  farewell,  for  a  time  at  least, 
which  Milady  Diana  bade  me  that  night  on 
the  terrace  of  Saint-Germain.  Next  day  there 
was  a  terrible  commotion,  our  peace  was  shat- 
tered, our  masque  doomed  never  to  be  per- 
formed, for  Monsieur  d'Orleans  quarrelled 
with  his  brother  the  King  over  his  favorite 
Chevalier  de  Lorraine.  I  know  not  the  rights 
of  it  all,  but  the  King  had  the  Chevalier  ar- 
rested, and  Monsieur,  in  a  fine  fit  of  spite, 
dismantled  his  rooms  at  Saint-Germain  on  the 
instant,  and  went  off  to  his  estate  of  Villers- 
Cotterets,  carrying  his  wife  with  him,  and 
leaving  us  all  in  despair.  Of  course  Milady 
Di  accompanied  her  protectress,  and  you  may 
imagine  the  disgust  of  Alain  de  Chevron  and 
myself,  and  the  hearty  maledictions  we  heaped 
on  Monsieur,  his  impertinent  Chevalier,  and 
all  that  concerned  him.  The  absurd  little 

158 


A   RESCUE!  159 

dandy  was  no  friend  to  us,  and  had,  I  believe, 
done  all  he  could  to  prevent  us  from  coming 
to  Saint-Germain  at  all — he  was  jealous  of 
everyone  who  approached  his  wife,  so  maybe 
he  did  us  the  honor  of  being  jealous  of  us. 
At  any  rate,  there  we  were,  left  behind  in 
Paris,  while  poor  Madame  and  her  ladies 
were  whirled  off  into  captivity  by  that  vicious 
little  ogre,  Philippe  d'Orleans. 

We  were  left  to  amuse  ourselves  as  best  we 
might,  and  I  confess  that  we  did  that  very 
badly.  If  one  went  to  Court,  nothing  was 
spoken  of  but  the  quarrel  between  Monsieur 
and  the  King,  and  the  gloom  caused  by  the 
loss  of  Madame's  charming  presence;  if  one 
stayed  in  one's  lodgings,  one  had  nothing  to 
think  of  but  the  same  subject,  of  which  I  for 
one  soon  wearied  consumedly.  Our  only 
pleasure  was  taken  in  the  lively  letters  which 
Milady  Di  was  pleased  to  write  to  her  cousin 
from  Villers-Cotterets,  describing  her  exile 
in  terms  which  made  us  laugh  in  spite  of  our 
own  sorrows.  Monsieur  was  in  the  vilest  of 
humors,  the  English  visit  was  despaired  of, 
and  Madame  in  very  low  spirits  in  conse* 


i6o  THE    SILVER   KEY 

quence.  Nor  was  Milady  Di  particularly 
pleased  with  the  turn  events  had  taken,  since 
her  own  affairs  were  considerably  influenced 
thereby.  She  could  not  leave  Madame  in  her 
present  state  of  discomfort  to  go  to  England 
alone,  and  clearly  she  could  do  no  more  in  the 
matter  of  Robin  Cflrewe  until  she  had  seen 
King  Charles.  So  here  was  everything  at  a 
standstill,  owing  to  the  ill-humor  of  Mon- 
sieur, who  spent  his  time  in  reviling  his  wife 
and  her  brother,  the  King  of  England,  and 
swearing  that  nothing  should  ever  induce  him 
to  allow  her  to  go  to  London,  or  even  Dover. 
If  he  persisted  in  this  decision,  it  was  difficult 
to  know  what  could  be  done ;  but  luckily  Mon- 
sieur's humors,  though  always  disagreeable, 
were  equally  variable,  and  did  not  endure 
long. 

But  I  confess  that  we  found  it  dull  work, 
waiting  for  Monsieur's  mood  to  blow  over, 
and  trying  to  read  hope  of  a  reunion  in  Milady 
Di's  letters— so  dull  that  I  was  conscious  of  a 
little  pleasurable  thrill  when  Charles  Fichet 
came  to  me  one  day  with  the  look  which,  as 
I  had  occasion  to  know,  meant  that  something 


A   RESCUE!  ibi 

unusual  had  happened,  or  was  about  to 
happen. 

"  I  think,  monsieur,"  he  said,  when  I  ques- 
tioned him,  "  that  there  is  something  amiss  in 
the  Rue  Gabrielle." 

Alain,  who  was  present,  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"Something  amiss?"  he  cried.  "Well, 
there's  consolation  in  the  world  still,  it  seems! 
Tell  us  what  it  is,  man,  quick,  for  since  I  can- 
not pick  a  quarrel  with  Monsieur,  it  will  be 
the  next  best  thing  to  pick  one  with  someone 
else." 

"With  du  Bac,  for  example?  "  I  said,  smil- 
ing at  his  eagerness.  "  Why,  what  makes  you 
think  there  is  anything  amiss,  Charles?" 

Then  he  told  his  story.  It  seemed  that  this 
model  of  good  servants  had  a  little  human 
failing  of  curiosity  to  leaven  the  lump  of  his 
unusual  virtues.  Perhaps  the  girl  in  the  Rue 
Gabrielle  had  inspired  him  with  interest,  for, 
as  he  phrased  it,  he  could  not  banish  from  his 
mind  the  look  she  had  given  me  over  that  mat- 
ter of  the  black  ribband.  Charles,  then,  in- 
spired, for  all  I  know,  with  the  sentiments  of 
a  hero  of  romance,  must  needs  make  an  expe- 


'^2  THE    SILVER    KEY 

dition  of  his  own  on  to  the  debatable  land  of 
the  Rue  Gabrielle.  He  gained  the  court — I 
need  not  say  that  he  timed  his  visit  at  night — 
and  found  everything  peaceful  enough.  Em- 
boldened by  success,  he  made  his  way  to  the 
window  by  which  we  had  entered  on  our  last 
visit.  This  time  it  was  fastened,  and  fastened, 
evidently,  with  no  intention  that  a  strange 
hand  should  meddle  with  it.  He  waited  for 
a  while,  hoping  that  the  girl  might  be  moved 
to  open  it,  but  no  one  came.  He  was  about 
to  retire  when  he  heard  a  sound  within  the 
room — a  sound  of  weeping  which  he  seemed 
quite  certain  had  been  made  by  our  kind  little 
friend  in  need. 

"  And  what  did  you  do?  "  asked  Alain,  who 
was  much  interested. 

"  What  could  I  do,  monsieur?  I  could  not 
break  into  the  house — I  did  not  dare  tap  at 
the  window,  for  fear  the  young  person  should 
not  be  alone.  I  thought  it  wiser  to  seek  coun- 
sel of  monsieur." 

"  If  one  could  get  her  away  from  that  house, 
it  might  be  possible  to  do  something  for  her," 
I  said,  "  As  it  is,  I  am  always  in  dread  of  a 


A  RESCUE  1  163 

tragedy,  if  du  Bac  should  find  out  that  she  has 
warned  me." 

"  Faith,  then,  get  her  out  of  the  house,'v 
Alain  said  coolly.  "  'Tis  to  be  done,  I  sup- 
pose. The  redoubtable  du  Bac  does  not  keep 
a  dragon  in  the  Rue  Gabrielle,  does  he?" 

"You  are  proposing  to  carry  her  off?"  I 
said,  amused. 

He  sat  up  in  the  great  chair  in  which  he  had 
been  sprawling  at  his  ease. 

"  See  here,  Herve,"  he  said  quite  gravely, 
for  him,  "  I  do  not  know  all  the  story,  but 
from  what  I  do  know  I  can  guess  that  the  girl 
risked  a  good  deal  to  serve  you.  You  know 
what  du  Bac  is,  and  so  do  I.  Are  you  going 
to  leave  her  there,  in  his  power?  If  it  were 
my  own  case,  I  would  tear  the  house  down 
with  my  hands  first! " 

His  vehemence  surprised  and  shamed  me. 

"  I  believe  you  are  in  the  right.  If  du  Bac 
has  discovered  that  she  warned  me,  that  house 
is  no  place  for  her." 

"  It  never  was  that,"  Alain  said.  "  I  have 
heard  tales — you  who  have  been  there  do  not 
know  all  the  secrets  of  that  house.  If  the 


164  THE   SILVER   KEY 

girl  is  what  you  describe  she  ought  not  to  be 
there — and,  by  Saint  Denys!  you  ought  not  to 
leave  her  there,  since  she  did  you  a  good 
turn." 

It  was  true,  but  the  truth  is  sometimes  not 
the  most  convenient  thing  in  the  world.  How 
was  I  to  get  the  girl  away,  and  what  was  I  to 
do  with  her  when  I  had  got  her  away?  I  put 
these  questions  to  Alain,  but  he  simply 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  took,  as  I  could 
see,  a  poor  opinion  of  both  my  courage  and 
my  gratitude. 

"  I  wish  she  had  done  as  much  for  me  as 
she  did  for  you,"  was  all  the  consolation  he 
gave  me. 

I  confess  I  lost  my  temper  a  little  with  him, 
for  the  whole  business  was  difficult  and  dan- 
gerous, and  I  was  half  of  his  mind  that  some- 
thing should  be  done.  The  girl  could  not  be 
left  there  at  the  mercy  of  such  an  unparalleled 
scoundrel  as  du  Bac;  and  since  that  was  so, 
the  only  person  whose  plain  duty  it  seemed 
to  be  to  rescue  her  was  without  doubt  myself. 

"  Very  well  then,  Charles,"  I  said,  "  we  will 
visit  the  Rue  Gabrielle  to-night. " 


A   RESCUE!  165 

"  And  you  shall  take  me  with  you!  "  Alain 
cried.  "  Here  am  I,  torn  from  Diana  by  that 
odious  little  fop,  Monsieur,  and  left  without 
the  least  amusement,  or  a  pursuit  in  the  world 
— and  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  let  you  en- 
joy an  adventure  in  which  everyone  is  quite 
as  likely  as  not  to  be  killed  by  du  Bac,  with- 
out having  a  finger  in  it?  Not  a  word, 
Herve — 'tis  pure  selfishness  on  your  part  to 
deny  me,  and  I'll  not  endure  it." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  said,  for  the  boy 
was  set  on  going,  though  I  would  much  have 
preferred  his  absence  to  his  presence,  and  told 
him  so  plainly,  at  which  he  only  laughed. 

"  'Tis  selfishness  and  nothing  else — you 
want  to  keep  all  the  fair  ladies  to  yourself,  M. 
d'Oreville.  There's  Diana  first — only  half 
my  cousin  since  you  came  her  way,  and  walked 
on  the  terrace  at  Saint-Germain  with  her,  and 
fetched  and  carried  for  her.  Oh,  you  may 
deny  it  as  much  as  you  like,  but  it  is  quite  true. 
I  never  knew  Di  suffer  anyone  so  kindly. 
There's  only  one  person  beside  Robin  Carewe 
from  whom  she  would  have  permitted  the 
smallest  attempt  at  consolation,  and  that's  His 


1 66  THE    SILVER   KEY 

Most  Sacred  Majesty — I'm  half  jealous  of 
him,  Herve,  if  you  must  know  the  truth,  for 
he's  most  provokingly  fond  of  Di,  and  that's  a 
fact,  and  she  does  not  seem  to  mind  it  either. 
But  it's  one  thing  to  play  second  fiddle  to  the 
King  of  England,  and  another  to  play  it  to 
you,  I'd  have  you  know.  You  owe  me  some 
sort  of  reparation  for  spoiling  my  sport,  and 
you  shall  pay  it  now.  I  am  going  to  the  Rue 
Gabrielle  with  you,  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

"  It  seems  that  your  devotion  to  Milady  Di 
does  not  stand  in  the  way  of  your  desire  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  another  of  the  '  fair 
ladies'  you  accuse  me  of  wishing  to  keep  to 
myself." 

"  And  why  should  it?  "  he  laughed.  "  It 
does  not  keep  you  from  mysterious  adventures 
in  the  Rue  Gabrielle  that  you're  so  mighty 
fond  of  Di,  does  it?  Faith,  I  think  I  have  a 
right  to  see  the  hidden  beauty  who  saves  your 
life,  and  sends  you  warnings,  and  behaves  like 
the  heroine  of  a  romance." 

"  You  may  see  her  if  you  like — and  if  you 
can,"  I  answered,  a  little  vexed  by  his  banter. 
"Only  remember  that  du  Bac  is  no  jesting 


A   RESCUE!  167 

matter,  and  that  the  lives  of  other  people  de- 
pend on  your  good  sense." 

"  I  have  as  much  sense  as  you,  if  you  would 
but  give  me  a  chance  of  using  it,"  Alain  re- 
torted indignantly. 

He  was  set  on  going,  and  though  I  wasted 
a  good  half-hour  in  trying  to  dissuade  him 
from  it,  my  efforts  were  all  made  in  vain. 
So  that  night  he  came  to  my  lodging  in  the 
highest  of  spirits,  and  committing  a  hundred 
extravagances  which  did  not,  as  I  told  him, 
argue  the  possession  of  as  much  sense  as  he 
claimed  to  have. 

"  Well,  I  have  not  had  a  jaunt  since  Di  went 
away,"  he  returned,  unabashed.  "  You  may 
take  the  matter  sadly,  if  you  like,  but,  by 
Saint  Denys!  I  mean  to  enjoy  myself." 

We  set  off,  therefore,  and  gained  the  ruelle 
at  the  back  of  the  Rue  Gabrielle  in  safety. 
The  door  of  the  court  was  unfastened — it  has 
always  seemed  strange  to  me  that  du  Bac 
should  have  taken  so  little  precaution  to  bar 
the  entrance  to  his  lurking-place,  but  I  sup- 
pose he  had  his  own  reasons  for  that.  There 
was  a  light  in  the  window  of  our  little  friend's 


1 68  THE   SILVER   KEY 

chamber,  though  the  window  itself  seemed 
shut.  We  approached  it  carefully,  and  then 
paused  to  consider  what  we  had  better  do. 
If  we  tapped  it  was  impossible  to  say  who 
might  hear  our  summons,  yet  we  could  at- 
tract the  girl's  attention  in  no  other  way. 
Alain  was,  of  course,  for  carrying  the  matter 
with  a  high  hand.  While  we  debated,  our 
course  of  action  was  settled  for  us.  A  loud 
sound  of  voices — of  one  voice,  rather — rose 
within  the  room.  It  was  clear  that  someone 
was  expressing  feelings  of  unusual  bitterness 
in  terms  of  unusual  strength.  We  listened  to 
this  outburst  of  wrath  for  some  moments,  and 
then  another  sound  was  added  to  those  within 
the  room — the  long,  terrified  cry  of  a  woman 
in  pain. 

Alain  clutched  my  arm. 

"  Are  you  going  to  stand  here  like  a  stock 
or  a  stone  while  the  girl  is  mishandled?"  he 
whispered  fiercely.  "  There  are  three  of  us 
— let  us  give  the  villains  a  f right  1  If  you  are 
not  going,  I  am." 

Before  I  could  say  a  word  he  had  wrapped 
his  cloak  round  his  fist,  and  broken  in  the 


A   RESCUE!  169 

window  with  half-a-dozen  slashing  blows.  A 
moment  more  and  he  was  in  the  room. 
Charles  and  I  stood  thunderstricken  for  a  sec- 
ond, and  then  followed  him  as  fast  as  we 
could. 

It  was  an  odd  scene  enough  that  met  our 
eyes.  In  the  centre  of  the  little  chamber  stood 
the  girl  who  had  helped  me  so  bravely.  Her 
hands  were  tied  behind  her  back,  her  face  was 
white  with  terror.  Standing  over  her,  in  a 
threatening  attitude,  was  a  little  old  woman, 
shrivelled,  hideous,  and  furious — as  veritable 
a  presentment  of  a  witch  in  the  vilest  of 
humors  as  ever  presented  itself  to  mortal 
eye.  Her  rage,  however,  had  been  diverted 
from  its  original  channel  by  the  appearance 
of  Alain,  who  had  clearly  found  her  in  the 
act  of  maltreating  the  girl,  and  who  now  held 
her  firmly  by  her  upraised  arm. 

"This  is  the  return  I  get!"  she  cried,  al- 
most foaming  at  the  mouth  with  impotent  an- 
ger. "  For  sixteen  years  I  have  fed  and 
clothed  the  slut,  only  to  be  brought  to  beg- 
gary through  her  in  my  old  age,  and  to  have 
robbers  breaking  into  my  honest,  decent  house 


170  THE    SILVER   KEY 

at  the  first  screech  she  gives!  Let  me  go,  you 
marauding  young  vagabond!  What  business 
is  this  of  yours?  " 

The  question  was  indeed  one  which  it  was 
difficult  to  answer,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  em- 
barrass Alain. 

"  You  were  beating  the  girl,  you  old  harri- 
dan!" he  said  uncivilly.  "  Beating  and  abus- 
ing her  like  the  scum  you  are.  Your  honest, 
decent  house,  indeed!  Faith,  I  know  a  thing 
or  two  about  its  honesty,  and  its  decency  into 
the  bargain.  You  need  not  try  to  break  my 
arm — I  shall  not  let  you  go  until  I  have  had 
what  I  want  of  you.  Who  is  the  girl,  that 
you  have  the  right  to  misuse  her?  " 

It  was  a  natural  enough  phrase  to  use,  and 
I  suppose  Alain  used  it  without  thought,  but 
it  seemed  to  have  an  extraordinary  effect  upon 
the  old  dame.  She  backed  away  from  Alain 
as  far  as  the  length  of  her  arm  would  allow, 
and  her  furious  tone  died  to  a  whine. 

"  Why,  who  should  she  be  but  my  own 
daughter,  that  has  been  brought  up  as  deli- 
cately as  a  princess?  "  she  whimpered.  "  Yes, 
pampered,  and  spoiled  with  kindness,  until 


A   RESCUE!  171 

she  will  not  bear  a  finger  laid  upon  her  in  just 
correction.  The  kindness  she's  had — haven't 
I  worked  my  poor  fingers  to  the  bone  for 
her?"  and  she  thrust  a  dirty,  skinny  set  of 
claws  in  Alain's  face.  "  And  because  I  give 
her  a  cuff  in  kindness  I  am  to  have  all  the 
rapscallions  in  Paris  about  my  ears." 

She  began  to  screw  out  a  few  unwilling 
tears,  which  made  little  tracks  of  cleanness  in 
the  dirt  of  her  ugly  face.  But  the  girl,  who 
had  by  this  time  recovered  from  her  astonish- 
ment at  our  sudden  appearance,  broke  in  sud- 
denly upon  her  lamentations. 

"Save  me,  monsieur!"  she  cried,  address- 
ing Alain.  "  She  threatens  to  murder  me, 
and  this  time  she  means  to  keep  her  word." 

The  old  hag  burst  into  protestations,  but 
Alain  would  hear  none  of  them. 

"  We  do  not  want  to  be  told  any  lies,"  he 
said.  "  Faith,  you  look  as  if  you  would  slit 
a  throat  as  easily  as  pick  a  pocket.  As  for 
the  girl  being  your  daughter,  I  know  nothing 
of  that;  there's  very  little  family  likeness  be- 
tween you.  Untie  her  hands,  Herve — that  is 
right.  Now  give  me  the  rope.  Here,  you 


172  THE   SILVER   KEY 

old  cat,  you  shall  taste  a  bit  of  your  own  fare 
this  time,"  and  he  tied  the  hands  of  the  spit- 
ting and  swearing  old  fury  with  the  rope  with 
which  she  had  secured  the  unfortunate  object 
of  her  wrath. 

So  far  all  had  gone  smoothly  enough,  but  I 
suppose  it  was  too  much  to  expect  that  an  ad- 
venture in  that  house  should  end  without  some 
sort  of  misfortune.  Suddenly,  without  the 
least  warning,  the  door  opened,  and  du  Bac 
himself  came  into  the  room. 

It  was  certainly  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world  which  might  have  been  counted 
upon  to  happen  in  that  place,  but  we  none  of 
us  expected  it.  For  a  moment  we  gaped  stu- 
pidly upon  him,  all  three  of  us.  He  surveyed 
us  coolly,  with  that  imperturbable  air  of 
his,  and  a  very  evil  look  in  his  ill-matched 
eyes. 

"This  is  a  pretty  scene,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  May  I  ask,  M.  de  Chevron,  what  you  are 
doing  in  my  house?  Your  noble  uncle  will 
be  rejoiced  to  hear  that  you  have  joined  rob- 
bery and  violence  to  all  your  other  amiable 
accomplishments." 


A   RESCUE!  173 

Alain  dropped  the  old  woman's  arm,  and 
whipped  out  his  sword. 

"  I  will  put  an  end  to  your  tale-bearing,  if 
I  can! "  he  cried.  "  Come  on,  Monsieur  the 
Poisoner — I  have  more  than  one  old  score  to 
settle  with  you." 

But  it  was  not  du  Bac's  game  to  fight  just 
then. 

"  Wait  until  you  are  old  enough  to  carry  a 
sword,  M.  de  Chevron,"  he  said,  with  the 
coolest  insolence  imaginable.  "  I  will  meet 
you  then,  unless  you  have  learned  wisdom  by 
that  time,  which  I  doubt.  You  want  to  play 
the  gallant  cavalier,  and  carry  off  this  pretty 
dependent  of  mine  as  you  carried  off  Milady 
Diana  Royal,  I  suppose?  I  have  not  the 
smallest  disposition  to  stop  you.  It  will  be 
your  own  undoing — I  would  not  prevent  it  if 
I  could." 

His  tone  wen'l  some  way  towards  abashing 
Alain,  who  had  looked  for  other  treatment 
than  banter.  But  the  girl  turned  to  me. 

"  Do  not  leave  me  here,  monsieur,  I  entreat 
you,"  she  said.  "  Let  me  go  somewhere,  where 
I  can  scrub  the  floors,  and  do  the  meanest 


174          THE  SILVER  KEY 

work— oh',  nothing  would  be  too  humble,  too 
rough  for  me,  so  I  might  get  out  of  this  dread- 
ful house !" 

"You  hear  what  the  girl  says,  monsieur?" 
I  asked  du  Bac. 

"  I  hear,"  he  answered,  with  his  unpleasant 
smile.  "  The  young  lady  is  tired  of  the  Rue 
Gabrielle  as  a  place  of  residence,  it  seems. 
Take  her  where  you  please — I  wash  my  hands 
of  the  whole  transaction." 

I  could  hardly  believe  my  ears.  Of  course 
there  was  some  trap  in  it;  knowing  du  Bac 
as  I  did,  I  was  certain  of  that.  Still,  it  was 
worth  while  risking  a  good  deal  to  get  the  girl 
out  of  his  power. 

"  Very  well  then,  M.  de  Chevalier,"  I  said. 
"  I  take  you  at  your  word.  Be  good  enough 
to  take  charge  of  your  landlady,  or  whatever 
she  is,  and  let  us  go  quietly,  as  we  came." 

He  smiled  again. 

"  Oh,  the  quietness  of  your  entry  is  undeni- 
able!" he  said.  "I  shall  not  dispute  it,  I 
assure  you.  Go  as  quietly  as  you  like;  I  tell 
you,  you  have  done  a  good  night's  work  for 
me,  and  a  bad  one  for  yourselves." 


A   RESCUE!  175 

It  was  his  parting  benediction,  and  one  so 
singular  that  I  confess  it  did  not  please  me. 
We  went  as  we  had  come,  save  that  the  girl 
went  with  us ;  and  du  Bac  watched  us  go,  with 
an  unholy  sort  of  satisfaction. 

When  we  reached  the  ruelle  we  paused  to 
look  at  each  other  in  the  dim  light,  as  though 
to  be  assured  that  we  had  really  escaped  so 
well.  Alain's  face  wore  the  most  comical  ex- 
pression of  disgust. 

"  Not  a  blow  struck!  "  he  said.  "  Tis  just 
my  cursed  ill-luck." 

I  did  not  answer,  but  Charles  Fichet,  for 
a  wonder,  took  it  upon  himself  to  reply  in  my 
place. 

"  You  may  console  yourself,  Monsieur 
Alain,"  he  said  rather  dryly.  "  If  there  be  no 
blow  struck  to-night,  it  is  only  because  M.  du 
Bac  hopes  to  make  himself  much  more  un- 
pleasant on  another  occasion,  in  order  to  re- 
venge himself  for  his  present  forbearance." 


CHAPTER    XII 

MILADY  DI  RETURNS  FROM  EXILE 

THE  day  after  our  adventure  in  the  Rue  Ga- 
brielle  saw  the  end  of  the  tedious  exile  to 
which  Monsieur's  ill  humor  had  subjected 
his  wife  and  her  ladies.  King  Louis,  more 
for  Madame's  sake,  I  suspect,  than  for  his 
brother's,  patched  up  a  peace  between  them, 
set  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  at  liberty, 
though  he  was  still  banished  from  the  Court, 
and  with  a  thousand  kindnesses  recalled  his 
brother  and  sister  to  Paris.  You  may  judge 
of  Alain's  delight — you  may  judge  with  what 
speed  we  hastened  to  Saint-Germain  to  pay 
our  duty  to  these  fair  ladies  returned  from 
dolorous  exile.  Her  Highness  was  radiant 
with  happiness ;  the  English  visit  was  in  sight 
at  last.  Hardly  less  radiant  was  Milady  Di. 
She  could  not  make  enough  of  us.  She  made 
Alain  tell  her  twice  over  of  our  adventure  of 
the  night  before.  She  vowed  she  must  see  the 

girl  we  had  rescued  ere  another  sun  had  set. 

175 


DI    RETURNS    FROM    EXILE    177 

She  rallied  Alain  finely  upon  being  such  a 
squire  of  dames,  and  at  length  asked  us  down- 
right what  either  of  us  wanted  with  a  lady- 
in-waiting. 

"She  cannot  brush  M.  d'Oreville's  coat, 
though  indeed  'tis  of  a  most  ravishing  tint;  I 
vow  that  peach-color  becomes  you  very  well, 
monsieur! "  she  was  good  enough  to  say.  "And 
as  for  Alain,  why,  I  have  spoiled  the  child  so 
that  another  soft  tongue  about  him  would  turn 
his  head.  Now,  what  do  you  say  if  I  take  her 
as  my  maid?  The  last  one  I  had  left  me  at 
yillers-Cotterets ;  she  was  dying  of  ennui,  she 
said — as  if  we  were  not  all  in  the  same  plight! 
Come,  you  shall  bring  your  pretty  charge  to 
see  me,  and  we  will  hear  what  she  thinks  of 
the  plan." 

So  my  brave  little  friend  was  brought  to 
Saint-Germain,  very  shy,  and  trembling  at 
the  notion  of  facing  this  great  lady.  She  need 
not  have  feared.  Milady  Di  gave  her  a  look 
out  of  her  hazel  eyes,  and  then,  with  the  sweet- 
est grace  in  the  world,  went  up  to  her  and 
thanked  her  for  all  she  had  done,  so  she  said, 
for  a  friend  of  hers.  "And  if  you  will  but 


178  THE   SILVER    KEY 

serve  me  half  as  well  as  you  served  him,"  she 
ended,  "  I  shall  have  a  jewel  of  a  tiring-maid, 
I  am  sure.  Come,  child,  let  me  hear  your 
voice,  and  see  if  I  like  it  as  well  as  your  face. 
Will  you  take  service  with  me?" 

The  girl's  blue  eyes  filled  suddenly  with 
tears.  With  a  little  impulsive  movement  she 
caught  Milady  Di's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  Oh,  milady,  I  shall  feel  so  safe  with  you, 
I  shall  be  so  happy!  I  shall  not  fear  any 
more,  and  no  one  will  hurt  me " 

"  Nay,  how  do  you  know  I  shall  not  beat 
you  if  you  do  my  hair  amiss?"  Diana  asked, 
laughing.  "  There,  it  is  settled.  You  shall 
stay  with  me;  you  are  much  too  pretty  to  be 
wasted  upon  the  brushing  of  M.  d'Oreville's 
peach-colored  coats." 

I  know  not  why,  but  that  peach-colored 
coat  served  her  for  many  a  jest.  To  Mar- 
guerite, however — this,  the  girl  said,  was  the 
only  name  she  had  ever  been  called  by — she 
was  as  good  as  her  word.  And  one  day,  in  the 
gardens  of  Saint-Germain,  she  made  me  tell 
her  all  I  knew  about  my  little  protectress. 

"And  you  think  her  the  daughter  of  that 


DI  RETURNS  FROM  EXILE   179 

old  harridan  who  beat  her?"  she  said,  when  I 
had  done.  "Why,  the  woman  has  always  ill- 
used  her,  even  at  Avignon,  where  she  says 
they  lived  before  they  came  to  Paris  and  en- 
tered definitely  into  the  service  of  du  Bac. 
She  was  afraid  of  the  hag — surely  she  is  no 
daughter  of  hers!" 

"Then  who  is  she?"  I  asked. 

She  laughed. 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  that.  Her  High- 
ness has  taken  an  amazing  fancy  to  the  child, 
and  swears  she  is  a  princess  in  disguise,  only 
waiting  to  cast  off  her  mean  attire,  and  return 
to  her  father's  house.  Look  at  her  face — • 
sure,  no  gutter-brat  ever  wore  such  a  look 
about  her.  And  her  voice  is  so  soft,  it  might 
be  a  Court  lady's;  it  is  twenty  times  sweeter 
than  mine." 

"  And  yours,"  I  said,  for  she  waited  for  me 
to  speak,  "  is  the  sweetest  in  the  whole  world." 

She  spread  out  her  stiff  silk  skirts  in  a  great 
Court  curtesy.  Her  gaiety,  in  such  moods  as 
these,  was  the  most  adorable  thing  I  have  seen. 

"  Oh,  I  swear  you  should  go  to  Whitehall, 
M.  d'Oreville;  it  takes  His  Most  Sacred  Ma- 


i8o  THE   SILVER   KEY 

jesty  himself  to  rival  you  in  a  compliment. 
And  that  reminds  me.  The  English  visit  is 
all  but  settled.  Settled  entirely  it  will  not  be 
until  the  last  moment,  for  Monsieur  is  still 
in  one  of  his  humors,  and  opposes  anything 
that  would  pleasure  Her  Highness,  but  King 
Louis  has  set  his  heart  on  it,  and  so  has  King 
Charles — it  will  be  strange  if  the  little  cox- 
comb baulks  two  kings ;  and  Her  Highness,  out 
of  particular  kindness  to  me,  has  bidden  me 
ask  if  you  and  Alain  will  take  service  with 
her  for  the  journey." 

I  told  her  I  would  follow  He?  Highness  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  say  nothing  of  herself. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  of  the  same  opinion  on 
your  return,"  Milady  Di  answered  merrily, 
"  for  Her  Highness  has  not  the  reputation  for 
much  better  luck  than  had  her  Royal  mother 
before  her,  when  it  comes  to  expeditions  by 
sea,"  and  she  told  me  of  how  her  late  Majesty 
of  England,  on  the  occasion  of  her  memorable 
return  from  Holland  before  Madame's  birth, 
was  caught  in  so  terrible  a  tempest  that  the 
very  sailors  gave  way  to  confusion  and  terror 
until,  rallying  them,  Her  Majesty  was  pleased 


DI    RETURNS    FROM    EXILE    181 

to  reassure  their  fears  by  reminding  them 
that  no  queen  of  her  country  had  ever  been 
drowned. 

"  But  she  had  the  most  amazing  ill  fortune 
in  traveling,"  Milady  Di  said,  "  So  much  so 
that  it  was  a  jest  with  King  Charles.  He  was 
wont  to  swear  that  if  a  ship  carried  but  a 
letter  of  Her  Majesty's  aboard,  'twas  enough 
to  sink  her." 

"We  will  hope  that  the  Huntress  Diana 
will  bring  luck  to  her  mistress  on  this  occa- 
sion," I  told  her;  and  it  was  an  ill-timed 
speech,  I  suppose,  for  her  face  clouded  over 
at  once. 

"  I  shall  bring  no  one  any  luck,  I  fear,"  she 
said  very  sadly.  "  I  think  sometimes  that  I 
am  the  most  unfortunate  creature  in  the 
world." 

I  was  so  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  going 
to  England  in  her  company  that  I  fear  I  was 
not  very  sympathetic.  Life  went  on  much 
as  it  had  done  before;  we  had  masques,  and 
fetes,  and  a  royal  christening  for  Madame's 
little  daughter,  Mademoiselle  de  Valois.  But 
the  English  visit  was  at  times  as  far  off  as 


1 82  THE   SILVER   KEY 

ever,  for  Monsieur — the  inexpressible  Mon- 
sieur!— took  a  fancy,  since  he  could  not  in  any 
other  way  hinder  his  wife's  going,  to  go  him- 
self. This  would  have  muddled  the  whole 
business,  for  he  would  never  have  suffered 
Madame  to  have  five  minutes  with  the  King 
in  private,  so  full  was  he  of  every  sort  of 
ridiculous  jealousy.  It  took  some  difficulty, 
and  much  scheming  in  high  quarters,  to  put 
him  off  this  inconvenient  project.  Finally 
King  Louis  was  driven  to  a  sort  of  subterfuge 
to  carry  the  affair  through.  It  had  been  for 
some  time  his  intention  to  take  the  Queen  to 
Flanders,  and  preparations  for  the  removal 
of  the  Court  had  been  long  in  progress.  Now 
it  was  announced  that  all  was  ready;  and  Her 
Highness  summoned  Alain  and  myself  to  an 
audience,  and  claimed  our  service,  somewhat 
to  our  mystification;  seeing  which,  she  turned 
smilingly  to  Milady  Di. 

|  "Your  friends  do  not  suspect. our  plot," 
she  said.  "Well,  M.  d'Oreville,  you  are  half 
an  Englishman,  and  I  will  trust  you  with  a 
secret.  'Tis  a  pretty  scheme  of  my  Royal 

I  brother,  King  Louis.    We  are  going  to  Flan- 


DI    RETURNS    FROM    EXILE    183 

ders,  but  I  have  a  little  surprise  in  store  for 
some  of  those  about  me,  and  my  Flemish  jour- 
ney is  like  to  end,  if  all  be  as  I  hope,  at 
Dover!" 

And  at  that  she  clapped  her  hands  as  a  child 
might  have  done,  and,  with  touching  joyous- 
ness,  called  for  our  congratulations.  The 
tears  stood  in  her  beautiful  eyes  at  the  thought 
of  this  journey  to  England,  and  she  cared  not 
a  jot  for  all  the  fatigues  which  were  to  pre- 
cede it. 

For  indeed  I  shall  always  remember  that 
journey  through  Flanders  as  a  miracle  of  mag- 
nificence and  discomfort.  As  Milady  Di  said 
of  it,  in  jest  that  held  but  too  much  truth,  we 
began  it  in  gilded  coaches  and  we  were  like 
to  end  it  by  dying  like  starving  dogs  in  a  ditch. 
On  many  occasions  she  vowed  that  the  com- 
pany of  Alain  and  myself  alone  kept  her  from 
tears,  so  great  were  the  inconveniences  she, 
in  common  with  everyone  else,  was  forced 
to  endure.  Sometimes  no  forks  or  knives 
could  be  found,  and  the  beauties  of  the  Court 
were  obliged  to  dismember  their  food  with 
no  aid  but  that  of  their  own  fair  fingers.  This, 


1 84  THE   SILVER   KEY 

however,  though  inconvenient,  was  a  mere 
matter  for  laughter;  it  was  another  affair  to 
camp  out  under  dripping  canvas,  for  delicate 
women  inured  to  every  luxury.  Madame  was 
sick  nearly  all  the  time,  though  she  kept  up 
her  spirits  with  marvellous  resolution,  and9 
when  alone  with  Diana,  Alain  and  myself,  as 
sometimes  happened,  would  comfort  us  all 
with  a  prospect  of  pleasanter  entertainment 
at  Dover.  How  the  hardships  she  suffered 
did  not  kill  her  outright  is  a  wonder.  As  for 
Milady  Di,  whatever  her  private  feelings 
might  be,  she  was  never  despondent  in  the 
presence  of  others,  but  ma4e  light  of  our  dis- 
comforts, and  turned  real  misery  to  naught 
with  her  wit. 

To  be  brief,  our  gilded  coaches — from 
which  the  gilding  had  long  since  been  washed 
away  by  heavy  rains,  or  nibbed  away  by  jolt- 
ings over  the  vilest  of  roads — rumbled  and 
rattled  through  Flanders  to  the  conclusion  of 
our  sorrows.  At  Courtray  the  King's  little 
comedy  was  played  with  admirable  results. 
English  envoys  met  the  Royal  party.  His 
Majesty  was  at  Dover;  an  English  fleet  was 


DI    RETURNS    FROM    EXILE    185 

in  waiting  at  Dunkirk.  There  was  no  time 
for  delays,  no  opportunity  for  even  the  indig- 
nant Monsieur  to  spoil  the  arrangements  now. 
Fie  made  one  last  attempt  to  do  so,  and  the 
King,  losing  patience,  told  him  that  Madame 
went  on  the  business  of  the  State,  and  bade 
him  not  meddle  in  the  matter. 

So  off  we  went,  in  real  earnest,  first  to  Lille, 
with  the  whole  Court,  and  then  to  Dunkirk, 
where,  on  the  evening  of  the  24th  of  May,  we 
embarked  with  infinite  satisfaction  on  the 
English  ships.  All  our  annoyances  were  for- 
gotten. Her  Highness  was  in  such  great 
heart  that  none  had  a  chance  to  be  sad.  In- 
deed, I  never  saw  her  more  lively  or  more 
beautiful. 

"'Tis  but  a  few  hours  more — a  few  little 
hours,"  she  repeated  all  the  evening.  "Tell 
us  what  time  it  is,  M.  d'Oreville.  Oh,  I  am 
so  happy,  I  cannot  sit  still!  Cannot  the  ships 
go  faster?  Someone  tell  them  to  put  up  more 
sail.  Someone  bid  the  Bishop  " — of  Tour- 
navey,  who  was  on  board — "to  pray  for  a 
quicker  wind." 

"Alas,  Madame,"  Milady  Di  made  answer, 


1 86  THE   SILVER   KEY 

with  a  face  of  mock  solemnity,  "  Monseig- 
neur  de  Tournay  is  in  his  cabin,  sorely  in- 
commoded by  the  motion  of  the  ship!" 

"The  motion  of  the  ship!"  Her  Highness 
cried  at  that.  "Why,  I  vow  I  think  it  does 
not  move  at  all.  I  believe  we  are  still  anchored 
in  Dunkirk  harbor." 

"Dunkirk  lies  miles  behind,"  Diana  told 
her,  "  and  your  Highness  had  best  snatch  some 
rest,  for  we  shall  all  be  up  betimes." 

Madame  laughed  prettily,  and  tapped  her 
favorite  on  the  cheek. 

"Ah,  Di,  Di!"  she  said,  "I  find  you  are 
indeed  more  English  than  I  am.  'Tis  a  cold 
nation,  M.  d'Oreville,  I  protest.  Look  at  her, 
she  has  not  turned  red  or  pale  once  this  even- 
ing— she  is  as  cool  as  though  we  were  all 
bogged  in  a  ditch  in  Flanders,  and  the  shores 
of  England  almost  in  sight!  And  I  am  to  lie 
xlown  and  sleep  as  calmly  as  at  Saint-Ger- 
main! Nay,  'tis  against  Nature — I  swear  it 
is!" 

Milady  Diana  had  great  difficulty  to  per- 
suade her  to  go  to  rest  at  all,  but  at  last  she 
listened  to  the  entreaties  of  her  ladies.  It  was 


DI    RETURNS    FROM    EXILE    187 

a  short  night  for  everyone  on  board,  and 
I  think  none  of  us  had  much  sleep,  for 
Madame's  excitement  had  infected  us  all.  I 
know  Alain  woke  me  at  an  unpleasantly  early 
hour,  in  a  great  flutter,  and  all  agog  for  the 
event  of  the  day. 

"We  shall  sight  land  before  five  of  the 
clock,"  he  said.  "The  captain  told  me  so 
himself.  Get  up,  Herve — 'tis  broad  daylight, 
and  you  will  miss  the  sight  of  Di  in  her  finest 
dress.  King  Charles  is  sure  to  come  out  some 
way  to  meet  us.  You  will  see  nothing  at  all 
if  you  lie  snoring  there  much  longer." 

I  dragged  myself  up,  half-asleep  all  the 
time,  and  got  into  the  peach-colored  suit 
that  Milady  Di  loved  to  jest  about,  and  so 
went  on  deck.  It  was  a  perfect  spring  morn- 
ing, with  a  pearly  mist  low  down  on  a  sea  of 
heavenly  blue.  Even  as  we  looked  the  mist 
rolled  softly  along,  and  in  the  distance  we 
saw  the  pale  gleam  of  land. 

"Someone  tell  Her  Highness!"  the  cry 
went  up.  "  Land  is  in  sight." 

She  must  have  been  awake  early,  for  she 
came  on  deck  at  once,  gay  as  a  girl  again, 


1 88  THE    SILVER   KEY 

with  no  trace  of  sickness  or  sorrow  on  her 
bright  face.  Paris  was  forgotten — Monsieur 
was  forgotten.  With  a  cry  of  the  liveliest  joy 
she  pointed  to  the  pale  line  low  down  upon 
the  horizon. 

"  The  white  cliffs — the  white  cliffs  of 
Dover!"  she  cried.  "It  is  England  in  sight 
at  last!" 

I  think  I  shall  never  forget  that  first  sight 
of  the  English  cliffs  and  the  rapt  face  of  Her 
Highness  as  she  hung  over  the  side,  with  her 
eyes  riveted. upon  the  sea.  Milady  Di  stood 
beside  her,  grave  and  silent  now  that  the  great 
moment  was  almost  come,  and  surpassingly 
beautiful  in  that  "finest  dress"  of  which 
Alain  had  babbled  in  my  ears  as  I  lay  half- 
asleep — a  dress  pearly  as  the  blue  sea,  and 
gleaming  with  rainbow  tints  under  its  sheeny 
softness.  I  could  understand,  gazing  upon  it, 
that  it  made  an  impression  even  upon  Alain. 

The  mists  had  rolled  away.  Suddenly  a 
boat  came  in  sight,  pulling  towards  us  at  top 
speed.  Four  or  five  cavaliers  were  grouped 
together  in  the  stern,  and  the  English  flag 
showed  above  them. 


DI    RETURNS    FROM    EXILE    189 

"The  King!" 

A  whisper  ran  from  end  to  end  of  our  ship 
— nay,  through  the  whole  fleet.  The  boat 
came  nearer  and  nearer,  until  the  gentlemen 
on  board  could  be  seen  quite  clearly.  Cannon 
boomed  joyously  over  the  still  water  as  the 
fleet  saluted,  and  little  puffs  of  white  smoke 
went  curling  up  from  every  ship.  In  the 
stern  of  the  approaching  boat  a  tall  man  in 
purple,  with  a  great  diamond  George  flashing 
on  his  cloak,  stood  up,  and  waved  his  hand 
to  Her  Highness  as  she  leaned  over  the 
side. 

"Tis  His  Majesty!"  Milady  Di  said. 
"And  the  gentleman  next  him  is  His  Grace 
of  Monmouth,  and  behind  them  are  the  Duke 
of  York  and  Prince  Rupert." 

The  boat  was  alongside  by  this  time,  in  the 
midst  of  a  clamor  of  welcome.  I  marked 
Her  Highness.  She  was  pale  as  death,  and 
the  tears  were  running  down  her  face  as  she 
leaned  on  Milady  Di  for  support.  The  end 
of  so  many  dreams  had  come  at  last,  and  I 
think  she  hardly  knew  how  to  meet  it.  His 
Majesty  came  up  the  side,  and  with  a  little 


190  THE   SILVER   KEY 

cry  of  joy  and  welcome  she  left  Diana  and 
ran  to  meet  him. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  this 
King  who,  though  I  knew  it  not  then,  was  to 
play  so  great  a  part  in  my  fortunes.  In  his 
purple  suit,  with  the  great  George  blazing  in 
the  sunshine,  he  made  a  fine  figure  as  he  came 
forward,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  his 
black  periwig  falling  upon  his  shoulders. 
There  was  a  very  pleasant  look  on  his  dark 
face,  and  his  black  eyes  had  a  light  in  them 
that  I  seldom  saw.  And  he  held  out  his  hand 
very  cordially,  and  drew  Her  Highness  to 
him  and  kissed  her  trembling  fingers. 

"Well  met,  Madame,"  he  said;  and  then 
suddenly  his  deep  voice  changed  and  grew 
very  soft.  "  My  dearest  sister — my  little 
Minette,"  he  said.  "  Ten  thousand  welcomes 
home  again!" — and  he  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her,  and  she  burst  into  tears  of  joy. 

While  th:'s  little  scene  was  in  progress  the 
Dukes  of  York  and  Monmouth  had  come 
aboard  us.  Their  arrival  gave  Her  Highness 
time  to  recover  herself,  and  the  next  thing 
which  took  my  notice  was  King  Charles  mak- 


DI    RETURNS    FROM    EXILE    191 

ing  a  fine  bow  to  Milady  Diana,  curtesying 
splendidly  to  the  very  deck. 

"  Oddsfish,  we  are  in  the  midst  of  pleasant 
meetings  to-day,"  His  Majesty  said.  "  Here 
is  the  Huntress  Diana  come  back  to  drive  her 
most  loyal  subject  to  distraction,"  and,  much 
to  my  dismay,  he  embraced  her  as  cordially; 
as  he  had  done  Her  Highness. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

"  THE  BEST  OF  BROTHERS  " 

\ 

IT  was  in  great  state,  and  with  much  firing  of 
guns  and  the  like,  that  we  sailed  on  to  Dover. 
His  Majesty  was  in  high  spirits,  and  en- 
chanted to  meet  Madame  again.  He  made  her 
a  hundred  compliments  on  her  looks,  and 
vowed  he  would  never  have  supposed  she  had 
been  sick  at  all,  from  her  appearance.  In- 
deed, it  was  clear  that  he  had  a  trick  of  saying 
pretty  and  agreeable  things,  in  a  way  that 
made  them  more  agreeable  still.  He  said  that 
he  would  take  Her  Highness  prisoner,  now 
that  he  had  got  her,  and  keep  her  until  his 
brother  King  Louis  sent  a  fleet  to  fetch  her 
back,  and  many  more  speeches  such  as  this, 
which  Madame  seemed  delighted  to  hear. 
It  was  charming  to  see  her  in  such  beauty  and 
gaiety,  when  one  remembered  the  sad  face 
she  had  so  often  borne  in  France.  The  whole 

party  was  a  gay  one,  consisting,  as  it  did, 

192 


"THE   BEST  OF   BROTHERS"     193 

mainly  of  relations  and  old  friends.  His 
Grace  of  Buckingham  was  of  it,  very  splen- 
did— indeed  far  more  so  than  the  King,  who 
rallied  him  laughingly  upon  his  magnificence. 

"  Faith,  I  think  George  has  been  up  all 
night,  attiring  himself  to  meet  you  becom- 
ingly, Madame,"  he  said.  "  I  swear  such  ap- 
parel is  no  early  morning  affair.  He  makes 
old  campaigners  such  as  Cousin  Rupert  and 
myself  look  plaguey  shabby,"  and  indeed 
Prince  Rupert,  it  was  plain,  had  not  sat  up  all 
night  attiring  himself,  whatever  Buckingham 
had  done.  "And  as  for  James,"  His  Majesty 
added,  laughing,  "  he  has  been  as  wild  for  a 
sight  of  the  fleet  as  though  his  lady-love  were 
aboard  her.  Nay,  James,  you  need  not  pro- 
test. I'll  not  ask  the  particular  lady's  name 
that  you  were  so  anxious  to  see.  I  know  you 
have  been  whispering  with  Milady  Di  for  the 
last  quarter  of  an  hour." 

His  Grace  of  Monmouth,  to  whom  he 
spoke,  laughed  too.  He  was  then  but  newly 
come  of  age — as  handsome  as  anyone  I  ever 
saw,  and  much  more  like  the  Duke  of  York 
than  the  King. 


194  THE   SILVER   KEY 

"Milady  Di  has  matters  for  my  private 
ear,  so  please  you,  Sir,"  he  said. 

His  Majesty  gave  a  great  shrug  of  his 
shoulders. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  she  Has,"  he  said.  "  I  never 
knew  a  pretty  woman  yet,  but  you  were  deep 
in  her  confidence,  James." 

His  Grace  made  him  a  pretty,  impudent 
bow. 

"  'Tis  Scriptural  command,  I  think,"  he 
said,  "that  children  should  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  their  parents.  I  do  but  obey  it,  Sir, 
and  follow  your  Majesty's  example." 

"  You  might  find  a  better  one,"  the  King  an- 
swered good-humoredly.  "  I  am  always  tell- 
ing you,  James,  to  follow  the  excellent  advice 
I  give  you,  and  not  the  very  questionable  ex- 
ample I  set  as  to  the  manner  of  carrying  it 
out.  I  hope  he  behaved  himself  in  Paris,  when 
he  visited  you,  Madame,  and  did  not  set  all 
the  fair  ladies  of  your  Court  by  the  ears." 

"Indeed,"  Her  Highness  said,  "we  were 
all  glad  enough  to  see  him,  and  I  think  half 
the  beauties  of  Paris  would  have  followed 
me  here  for  the  chance  of  seeing  him  again. 


"THE  BEST  OF   BROTHERS " 

I  protest,  Sir,  James  carried  out  all  your  pre- 
cepts admirably.     If  he  erred  in  anything,   ' 
'twas  but  in  your  Majesty's  own  fashion — he 
made  himself  so  charming  that  'twas  difficult 
to  do  without  him." 

"  Then  I  think  I  shall  send  him  back  with 
you,  for  no  one  will  look  at  my  ugly  face  when 
he  is  near,"  His  Majesty  laughed.  "'Tis  a 
little  hard  on  my  black  looks  to  have  a  person 
like  James  always  about  to  put  me  in  the 
shade.  You  are  luckier  than  I,  Minette — 
your  little  maids  will  not  eclipse  their  mother 
for  many  a  long  year." 

"And  not  then,"  says  His  Grace  of  Buck- 
ingham, "  if  it  please  your  Majesty.  Her 
Highness  has  the  secret  of  eternal  youth  and 
beauty." 

"  'Tis  more  than  you  and  I  have,  then, 
George,"  the  King  said,  with  a  sly  glance  at 
his  favorite.  "  But  I  never  pretended  to  any- 
thing in  my  life — not  even  beauty.  Oddsfish, 
I  think  it  should  be  engraved  on  my  monu- 
ment. *  Here  lies  a  King  who  made  no  pre- 
tences ! '  'Tis  an  epitaph  that  could  be  applied 
with  truth  to  but  few  princes." 


196  THE   SILVER    KEY 

"  I  think  my  Lord  Rochester's  epigram  is 
truer,  Sir,"  His  Grace  of  Monmouth  said  mis- 
chievously. "You  know  he  held  that  your 
Majesty  never  performed  a  wise  action  in  your 
life." 

"  Or  made  a  foolish  speech — which  is  much 
more  than  anyone  will  be  able  to  say  of  my 
son,"  retorted  the  King,  at  which  they  were 
all  very  merry,  for  the  young  Duke  was  never 
the  wisest  of  men. 

Among  all  his  merriment  and  light  talk  I 
marked  but  one  who  seemed  ill  at  ease  and 
out  of  place,  and  that  was  the  Duke  of  York, 
who  said  very  little,  and  looked  nervous  when- 
ever the  conversation  turned  on  His  Grace  of 
Monmouth,  or  alluded  in  any  way  to  his  re- 
lationship with  the  King.  It  was  plain  that 
the  Duke  cared  little  to  see  his  handsome 
nephew  in  such  favor,  and  the  reason  was 
easy  to  guess,  for  there  were  those  that  held — 
and  hold  still — that  His  Grace  was  of  lawful 
birth,  and  should  by  rights  have  been  Prince  of 
Wales. 

I  think  the  Duke  of  York  was  ever  uncer- 
tain of  what  turn  the  King's  plain  affection 


"THE   BEST   OF   BROTHERS"    197 

for  his  son  might  take.  Certainly  His  Majesty 
was  fond  enough  of  the  young  Duke,  and  by 
no  means  so  fond  of  his  brother.  I  thought  at 
the  time  that  His  Grace  of  York  was  the  least 
attractive  member  of  his  house  then  present. 
He  had  not  the  King's  charm  of  manner  or 
quickness  of  speech,  nor  that  natural,  spon- 
taneous air  which  sat  so  well  upon  him,  and 
became  all  he  said  or  did.  There  was  nothing 
of  stiffness,  nothing  of  state  about  him,  but  the 
simplest  good  humor  in  the  world,  and  yet, 
for  all  his  pleasant  ways,  a  sort  of  dignity 
which  no  one  dared  offend.  He  could  jest 
with  His  Grace  of  Monmouth,  or  make  ex- 
travagant compliments  to  the  ladies  of 
Madame's  suite — which,  indeed,  he  did,  and 
freely — or  banter  his  favorite  Buckingham; 
but  you  felt  all  the  time  that  he  was  King  of 
England,  though  he  himself  seemed  the  last 
person  to  be  aware  of  the  fact.  He  was  also 
extraordinarily  quick  to  read  the  thoughts  of 
those  about  him,  as  I  had  afterwards  more 
than  one  opportunity  of  knowing.  I  think 
he  marked  the  dull  humor  of  his  brother, 
and  was  unwilling  that  anything  should  spoil 


198  THE    SILVER   KEY 

the  gaiety  of  the  day,  for  suddenly  he  went 
up  to  him,  and  took  his  arm. 

"  I  know  why  you  are  moping  here, 
brother,"  he  said  very  kindly.  "  I  have  a 
pretty  little  surprise  in  store  for  you.  See, 
Minette,  here  stands  the  model  of  virtue  for 
our  family — oddsfish,  he  has  so  many  of  the 
domestic  graces  that  none  have  been  left  over 
for  poor  me!  Cheer  up,  brother  James!  I 
sent  off  this  morning  post-haste  to  Whitehall 
for  Her  Majesty  and  Madame  d'York.  I 
know  very  well  you  cannot  exist  without  her 
for  more  than  a  day  or  two,  and  since  our  dear 
Minette  may  not  go  to  London,  we  will  have 
a  family  party  at  Dover,  and  show  the  world 
how  well  we  all  love  each  other." 

There  was  a  touch  of  meaning  in  his  last 
words,  and  no  doubt  the  Duke  detected  it. 
His  face  cleared,  and  he  looked  ashamed  of 
his  ill  humor. 

"  Sir,  your  Majesty  is  indeed  the  best  of 
brothers,  as  Minette  has  always  maintained," 
he  said. 

"And  the  kindest  of  fathers  to  an  impudent 
wretch  who  plagues  you  sorely,"  His  Grace 


"THE   BEST   OF   BROTHERS"    199 

of  Monmouth  murmured  under  his  breath, 
but  loud  enough  for  the  King  to  hear — I  sup- 
pose he  thought  his  quotation  of  Lord  Roch- 
ester's couplet  had  given  offence;  but  His 
Majesty  very  pleasantly  put  his  other  hand 
through  the  young  Duke's  arm,  and  so  walked 
back  to  Her  Highness  with  his  brother  and 
his  son  on  either  side  of  him. 

"They  are  paying  me  such  compliments, 
my  head  is  near  turned,  Minette,"  he  said. 
"  Why,  I  have  always  been  the  black  sheep  of 
my  family — all  your  pretty  speeches  are  sadly 
wasted  upon  me.  But  I  care  not  what  you 
think  of  me  so  long  as  you  love  me  a  little 
too — we  Stuarts  should  stand  by  each  other, 
if  only  for  all  we  have  faced  together  in  the 
stormy  days  gone  by.  Nay,  brother  James — 
no  words.  I  know  you  are  my  very  good 
friend,  and  the  most  loyal  of  my  subjects. 
Oblige  me  by  looking  forward  to  a  pleasant 
meeting  with  your  wife,  which  you  will  owe 
to  me,  and  try  and  bear  with  this  boy's  over- 
bearing ways.  We  have  all  spoiled  him — 
we  must  be  gentle  to  our  own  work,  when  'tis 
done,  you  know." 


200  THE    SILVER    KEY 

So  he  made  peace  between  them,  not  for  the 
first  time,  and  not,  unfortunately,  with  very 
lasting  results;  but  I  marvelled  at  the  delicate 
touch  with  which  he  did  it,  smoothing  over 
all  unpleasantness  with  a  rare  skill,  and  I  re- 
membered, not  without  admiration,  how 
stoutly  he  had  stood  by  this  same  Madame 
d'York,  when  under  a  cloud  with  her  husband, 
owing  partly  to  the  mischief-making  of  the 
late  Queen  Dowager,  and  how  resolutely  he 
had  denied  the  charges  brought  against  her, 
and  finally  had  himself  brought  the  poor  lady 
to  Whitehall  and  reconciled  her  to  his  brother. 

However,  the  Dukes  of  York  and  Mon- 
mouth  were  the  best  of  friends,  at  any  rate 
until  we  landed  at  Dover,  which  was  now 
close  at  hand — a  dreary  place  enough,  and  a 
poor  exchange  for  Whitehall,  where  they 
would  have  gone  but  for  Monsieur's  churlish 
mood.  Her  Highness  was  lodged  in  the 
Castle,  with  those  immediately  in  attendance 
upon  her,  and  the  rest-tff  her  suite  found 
lodging  in  the  town.  Junketings  and  festivity 
were  the  order  of  the  day.  No  one  would 
have  suspected  that  serious  business  underlay 


"THE   BEST   OF   BROTHERS"    201 
f 

all  this  fluttering  to  and  fro  of  Court  gallants 
and  ladies.  The  Queen  and  Madame  d'York 
arrived  in  haste  from  London,  and  gave 
Madame  the  most  affectionate  greeting.  The 
Duke  of  York  was  called  away  to  London — 
not  entirely  to  the  sorrow  of  Madame  and  the 
King,  who  were  glad  to  conclude  the  final 
articles  of  the  Treaty  of  Dover  without  him. 
But  the  business  of  this  secret  treaty  was  not 
allowed  to  interfere  with  the  merry-making 
proper  to  such  a  happy  occasion.  We  made 
many  excursions  by  sea,  which  greatly  de- 
lighted Her  Highness.  Indeed,  it  was  pleas- 
ant enough,  in  the  gay  spring  weather,  and  I 
had  no  cause  to  complain,  for  Milady  Diana 
Royal  was  good  enough  to  accept  my  escort 
upon  most  occasions.  She  had  not  yet  had  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  to  His  Majesty  upon 
her  own  business,  as  he  had  been  so  occupied; 
but  one  day,  when  we  had  been  over  the  Eng- 
lish fleet,  and  had  stayed  for  a  collation  on 
board  the  vessel  on  which  Madame  had 
crossed  the  Channel,  the  King  left  Her  High- 
ness, with  whom  he  had  been  sitting,  and  came 
across  to  where  Milady  Di  was  holding  lively 


202  THE    SILVER   KEY 

converse  with  their  Graces  of  Monmouth  and 
Buckingham. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  you  have  my  permission 
to  make  your  compliments  to  any  other  lady 
of  Her  Highness's  suite,"  he  said.  "  I  have  an 
assignation  of  long  standing  with  Milady 
Diana  Royal.  Oddsfish,  she  has  been  signing 
a  treaty  herself,  I  believe,  without  my  sanc- 
tion, or  some  such  pretty  matter.  James,  I 
protest  you  are  all  eyes  and  ears  at  once — off 
with  you!  The  matter  is  private.  Your 
hand,  Milady  Di;"  and  he  gave  her  his  arm, 
and  led  her  off  apart  from  the  others,  and  for 
a  long  time  they  walked  up  and  down  in  very 
earnest  conversation. 

I  confess  I  was  all  eyes,  like  His  Grace  of 
Monmouth,  but  I  made  little  of  the  King's 
face.  Milady  Di  spoke  much  to  him,  in  a 
low  voice,  and  I  saw  him  nod  now  and  then. 
When  at  last  their  business  ended,  they  came 
back  and  passed  near  me,  and  His  Majesty 
glanced  at  me  and  stopped. 

"And  this  is  the  gentleman — your  M.d'Ore- 
ville,"  he  said.  "  I  vow,  I  think  you  should 
take  him  into  your  confidence,  since  he  has  had 


"THE   BEST   OF   BROTHERS"    203 
* 

the  devotion  to  follow  you  into  a  strange  land. 
Oh,  'tis  Her  Highness  he  has  followed,  is  it? 
Faith,  I  am  much  obliged  to  him  for  it."  He 
looked  at  me  smilingly,  but  with  a  quizzical 
gleam  in  his  black  eyes.  "  Her  Highness  is 
fortunate  indeed  in  so  many  friends.  I  am 
sure  she  is  especially  fortunate  in  you,  sir." 

"  The  fortune  is  on  my  side,  your  Majesty," 
I  answered,  knowing  not  what  to  say,  "  in  hav- 
ing the  honor  of  serving  Her  Highness." 

"What,  not  a  word  of  this  lady  too,  M. 
d'Oreville?"  he  said,  with  a  teasing  glance  at 
Milady  Di;  and  waited,  much  to  my  confu- 
sion, for  a  reply. 

"  'Tis  unnecessary,  Sir,  to  tell  Milady  Diana 
that  I  am  the  humblest  of  her  servants,"  I 
stammered. 

"  Why,  we  are  in  the  same  plight,  then,  you 
and  I,  M.  d'Oreville,"  he  said  gaily.  "  I  pro- 
test, Di,  I  am  jealous  of  James,  and  all  the 
other  gallants  you  have  at  your  feet." 

Milady  Di  made  him  a  great  sweeping 
curtsey. 

"  Nay,  Sir,  your  Majesty  has  no  need  to  be 
jealous.  I  do  not  keep  your  Majesty  at  my 


204  THE   SILVER   KEY 

feet,"  and  she  pointed,  with  a  smile,  to  th>u 
diamond  locket  at  her  throat. 

"Then  I  am  not  quite  out  in  the  cold?" 
he  laughed.  "  'Tis  the  old  locket  I  gave  you 
on  your  birthday  once,  at  The  Hague,  when  I 
was  a  long-legged  youngster  without  a  king- 
dom, and  you  were  the  prettiest  little  exile  that 
ever  came  out  of  England,  and  you  gave  me 
a  kiss  for  it,  Di,  I  swear  you  did!  Why,  I 
shall  not  be  jealous  of  James  when  I  remem- 
ber that.  And  you  keep  the  thing  still." 

"As  I  keep  the  memory  of  all  your  Majes- 
ty's many  kindnesses  in  my  heart,"  she  said 
softly. 

"We  are  old  friends,  you  must  know,  M. 
d'Oreville,"  the  King  went  on.  "  Old  friends 
in  adversity — faith,  I  have  known  as  much  of 
that  as  most  people,  I  think." 

"And  your  Majesty  has  known  also  the 
loyalty  that  burns  the  more  brightly  in  such 
evil  seasons,"  I  ventured  to  tell  him.  "  Her 
Highness  has  held  us  enthralled  by  the  recital 
of  the  tale  of  all  that  happened  after  Wor- 
cester." 

"  'Tis  a  tale  almost  too  wonderful  to  be  true, 


"THE  BEST   OF   BROTHERS"    205 

you  think?  Oddsfish! "  he  said  gravely,  "  the 
same  notion  has  come  to  me  many  a  time  since. 
When  friends  forsake  me,  and  the  world  looks 
an  ill  place — it  does  not  always  smile,  even 
upon  me — I  like  to  think  of  those  days,  and 
how  the  highest  and  the  humblest  alike  risked 
all  to  save  their  King.  And  when  I  have  re- 
membered them  for  a  little  while,  M.  d'Ore- 
ville,  why,  the  world  looks  a  better  one  than 
I  had  thought  it,  and  'tis  I  that  seem  very 
little  worthy  of  such  devotion.  The  men 
risked  their  lives  for  me,  and  the  women  held 
their  tongues!"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 
}<  Sure,  no  sovereign  ever  so  proved  his  sub- 
jects' loyalty  before,  or  ever  will  do  so  again." 
So  he  went  off,  and  set  to  work  bantering 
Her  Highness's  ladies  for  the  remainder  of 
the  trip.  There  was  one,  a  Breton  girl,  very 
young,  with  a  soft  face  like  a  child,  and  round, 
innocent  eyes — Mademoiselle  de  Keroualle — 
who  seemed  to  take  his  fancy  greatly,  and  to 
whom  he  made  the  most  extravagant  compli- 
ments, which  she,  I  thought,  did  not  take  at 
all  amiss;  and  my  Lady  Castlemaine,  who  had 
come  down  in  the  Queen's  train,  cast  more 


206  THE   SILVER   KEY 

than  one  vicious  glance  at  this  pretty  maiden 
who  was  one  day  to  usurp  her  place  in  the 
King's  fickle  heart,  and  reign  as  Duchess  of 
Portsmouth.  Indeed,  my  Lady  Castlemaine 
visibly  tired  the  King,  with  her  ill  temper 
and  unbounded  airs,  and  played  into  the  hands 
of  the  quiet  little  maid-of-honor,  who  scarce 
spoke  above  her  breath  in  those  days,  and 
gazed  upon  His  Majesty  with  a  sort  of  breath- 
less admiration  and  wonder  which  he  found 
as  pleasant  as  most  other  men  would  in  a  like 
case. 

And  the  pleasant  days  slipped  by  so  quickly 
that  one  could  scarce  count  them  as  they 
passed,  and  I  did  not  dream  that  one  was  to 
come  which  was  to  hold  something  much  more 
serious  than  pleasure  for  me. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  KING'S  EVIDENCE 

THE  Secret  Treaty  was  signed,  and  the  busi- 
ness of  Her  Highness's  visit  was  therefore 
concluded.  Nothing  was  left  for  us  to  do  but 
enjoy  ourselves,  and  admire  the  entertainment 
provided  for  us.  Her  Highness  could  not  be 
expected  to  linger  in  England  now;  already 
she  had  far  exceeded  Monsieur's  permission 
in  the  matter  of  the  length  of  her  visit.  But 
it  was  plain  that  she  dreaded  to  part  with  the 
King,  and  that  he  cared  as  little  as  she  did  to 
look  forward  to  the  moment  when  they  must 
say  farewell  to  each  other.  It  would  indeed 
be  impossible  to  praise  too  highly  his  kindness 
and  graciousness,  and  the  pains  he  took  to  ex- 
press his  affection  for  Madame  in  every  pos- 
sible way.  Even  in  those  few  days,  Madame, 
by  her  charm  and  delightful  gaiety,  had  made 
herself  beloved  wherever  she  went  and  by  all 
who  were  privileged  to  meet  her.  His  Grace 

of  Buckingham  was,  I  believe,  as  deeply  in 

207 


208  THE    SILVER   KEY 

love  with  her  as  he  had  been  on  the  occasion 
of  her  first  visit  to  England  before  her  mar- 
riage; His  Grace  of  Monmouth  was  on  such 
friendly  terms  with  her  as  would  have  re- 
duced poor  Monsieur,  who  was  as  jealous  of 
him  as  of  everyone  else  whom  Madame  fa- 
vored, to  a  state  of  positive  distraction.  Even 
the  Duke  of  York's  coldness  was  not  proof 
against  his  sister's  sweet  manner,  and  the 
Queen,  who  was  no  beauty  herself,  poor  lady, 
could  scarce  take  her  eyes  from  her  brilliant 
sister.  My  Lady  Castlemaine  was  clearly  ill 
pleased  at  the  influence  Her  Highness  pos- 
sessed over  His  Majesty — it  was  indeed  a  com- 
plete triumph. 

But,  alas!  that  pleasant  time  drew  on  to  its 
close.  Madame  knew  it — one  could  read  the 
sadness  in  her  eyes  when  she  thought  of  it. 
His  Majesty  knew  it — he  sought  by  a  hundred 
rich  gifts  and  pretty  words  to  prove  his  affec- 
tion for  Her  Highness  while  he  had  her  still 
with  him.  He  heaped  her  with  jewels,  and 
made  her  several  princely  presents  of  money. 
He  gave  Milady  Di  another  miniature  of 
himself,  all  set  in  diamonds,  to  match  the  boy- 


THE   KING'S    EVIDENCE       209 

ish  picture  of  him  as  a  long,  pale  youth  in  a 
buff  coat  which  hung  in  the  old  locket  on  her 
white  neck. 

"  And,  faith,  I  would  give  you  the  finest 
jewels  in  the  kingdom,  and  make  you  Countess 
of  Huntingford  in  your  own  right,  sweet- 
heart," he  told  her — I  was  present  at  the  pretty 
ceremony  of  presentation, — "  but  you  have  the 
cursed,  stiff-necked  pride  of  all  your  race,  and 
will  not  stoop  to  take  a  favor  from  your  poor 
sovereign.  My  Lord  Huntingford,  your 
father,  was  the  same.  *  Tell  me  what  I  shall 
do  for  you  to  thank  you  for  your  long  service, 
my  Lord,'  I  said  to  him  the  first  time  he  came 
to  pay  his  court  to  me  at  Whitehall  after  the 
Restoration.  'Your  Majesty  owes  me  five- 
and-twenty  pounds,'  he  answered — and  noth- 
ing else  could  I  get  him  to  take.  He  would 
not  look  at  a  Dukedom — I  think  he  would 
have  left  the  country  if  I  had  offered  to  change 
his  title.  Oddsfish,  I  did  not  dare  press  him 
— I  remember  too  well  the  ratings  I  had  of 
him  at  The  Hague,  when  I  did  not  behave  as 
he  thought  seemly.  And  you  are  the  same, 
Di — you  will  not  take  a  favor  of  me." 


210  THE    SILVER   KEY 

"  Nay,  but  I  will  take  one,  Sir,"  Milady  Di 
answered  very  sweetly, — "  your  Majesty's 
hand  to  kiss,  and  my  humblest  thanks  for  all 
your  goodness ;  "  and  she  suited  the  action  to 
the  word  very  prettily,  and  kissed  the  King's 
hand  with  the  sweetest  air  of  reverence  in  the 
world ;  whereat  he  glanced  at  his  own  jewel- 
led fingers,  and  then  at  me,  and  smiled. 

"  Faith,  I  think  I  will  throw  away  my 
rings,"  he  said.  "  What  say  you,  M.  d'Ore- 
ville?  Is  it  not  too  much  honor  when  the 
Virgin  Goddess  stoops  to  smile  upon  us  poor 
mortals?  I  protest  you  think  I  am  getting 
more  than  my  deserts." 

I  was  witness  of  another  curious  little  scene 
that  day.  He  had  given  Madame  a  jewel 
which  pleased  her  greatly.  She  bade  Made- 
moiselle de  Keroualle  go  fetch  her  jewel-cas- 
ket that  she  might  find  His  Majesty  some  trifle 
to  keep  her  in  remembrance.  The  fair  maid- 
of-honor  was  about  to  obey,  when  the  King 
stopped  her  and  took  her  by  the  hand,  some- 
what to  her  astonishment,  though  not,  I 
thought,  to  her  discomfiture. 

"Nay,   Minette,"   he  said,  "  if  you  must 


THE   KING'S    EVIDENCE       211 

leave  me  one  of  your  jewels,  let  it  be  this  one. 
Come — cannot  you  spare  one  diamond  from 
your  crown  of  beauties  to  adorn  Whitehall? 
I  think  we  have  no  stone  at  Court  of  so  perfect 
a  brilliancy  as  this." 

He  said  it  in  his  jesting  way,  but  I  have 
always  thought  he  meant  it  in  earnest.  Ma- 
dame laughed  at  him,  and  asked  what  Made- 
moiselle's parents  would  say  to  her  if  she  re- 
turned to  France  without  their  daughter,  and 
so  passed  it  off;  but  Mademoiselle  de  Kero- 
ualle  stood  very  still,  with  her  eyes  most 
modestly  cast  down — she  showed,  I  must  say, 
no  particular  distaste  to  the  notion  of  being 
left  behind  for  the  adornment  of  White- 
hall. 

"  And,  faith !  she  will  be  there  some  day, 
the  mum  little  cat,"  said  Alain  afterwards — 
he  had  no  liking  for  the  quiet  maid-of-honor. 
"  Did  you  see  the  look  she  gave  His  Majesty 
from  under  those  long  lashes  of  hers,  Herve? 
I  will  wager  a  pair  of  embroidered  gloves 
against  yoilr  old  blue  doublet  that  six  months 
hence  she  will  be  the  reigning  favorite  at 
Whitehall." 


212  THE    SILVER   KEY 

I  did  not  take  his  bet,  but  told  him  rather 
sharply  to  mind  matters  more  fitting  to  his 
age.  He  was  beginning  to  give  himself  all 
the  airs  of  a  courtier,  and  was  sometimes 
prodigiously  amusing  in  this  new  character. 

And  now  it  was  the  night  before  our  depar- 
ture. There  had  been  the  usual  festivities  at 
the  Castle,  but  it  was  very  late,  and  all  who 
could  manage  it  had  got  away,  to  rest  before 
the  journey  of  to-morrow,  and  see  that  all 
was  in  order  for  traveling.  Her  Highness, 
I  knew,  had  retired.  I  was  standing  at  a 
window  of  the  Castle,  waiting  for  Alain,  who 
had  been  supping  with  His  Grace  of  Mon- 
mouth,  and  admiring  the  tranquil  beauty  of 
the  moonlight  night,  which  argued  a  fine 
crossing  for  us  on  the  morrow,  when  a  hand 
was  laid  on  my  arm,  and  I  turned  quickly, 
thinking  that  Alain  had  come  for  me. 

But  it  was  not  Alain  who  stood  behind  me, 
but  the  King,  with  his  hat  drawn  over  his  face, 
and  muffled  in  a  plain  black  cloak  such  as  any 
one  about  the  Castle  might  have  worn. 

"  You  are  admiring  the  night,  M.  d'Ore- 
ville,  I  see,"  he  said.  "  I  had  a  fancy  I  should 


THE   KING'S    EVIDENCE      213 

find  you  here.  I  have  marked  you  in  this 
spot  more  than  once." 

"  Your  Majesty  has  need  of  me?" 

"Nay — my  Majesty  has  retired  to  rest, 
with  an  aching  head,  and  a  sufficiently  sore 
heart  at  the  thought  of  to-morrow,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Do  not  trouble  yourself  with  State 
titles  for  a  while.  I  am  embarked  upon  a 
midnight  adventure  with  a  fair  lady  of  your 
acquaintance,  and  I  fancied  your  attendance 
might  lend  a  certain  propriety  to  the  matter," 
he  said,  with  a  smile.  "  You  can  tell  me  where 
Milady  Di  lodges  in  the  town,  I  suppose?" 

I  knew  that  Milady  Di  had  had  to  harbor 
in  the  town  since  the  arrival  of  Her  Majesty 
and  the  Duchess  of  York,  and  as  it  happened 
she  lodged  not  far  from  the  house  wherein 
Alain  and  myself  put  up.  "  I  know  where 
Milady  Diana  lodges,  Sir,"  I  said,  "  but — it 
is  already  very  late " 

"  But  I  must  see  her,  and  without  the  eyes 
of  a  dozen  persons  fixed  on  us,"  he  inter- 
rupted. "  I  wish  you  to  attend  me,  M. 
d'Oreville,  for  I  think  I  can  trust  you  to  be 
silent.  If  I  take  any  other  gentleman  of  my 


214  THE   SILVER   KEY 

acquaintance  with  me,  the  matter  will  be  all 
over  Dover  to-morrow,  with  a  great  deal  of 
silly  and  scandalous  embroidery  which  I  do 
not  care  to  have  connected  with  Milady  Diana 
Royal." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  attend 
him,  which  I  did,  wondering  what  business 
he  could  have  with  Milady  Di  at  this  hour, 
and  whether  it  concerned  the  object  of  her 
visit  to  England.  Arrived  at  the  house  we 
found  ourselves  at  fault,  for  it  was  dark  and 
silent.  Plainly  the  inhabitants  were  all 
asleep. 

"  I  had  better  knock  them  up,"  I  said,  and 
was  about  to  do  so,  when  His  Majesty  caught 
my  arm. 

"  Softly — softly,  man — do  you  think  I  am 
come  here  to  hold  an  audience?  Faith,  you 
are  an  overpoweringly  open  person  to  go  on  a 
secret  errand  with,"  he  said,  in  some  amuse- 
ment. "  Now,  you  do  not  know  which  the 
lady's  window  is,  I'll  be  bound,  nor  whether 
it  looks  out  upon  this  side  of  the  house? 
What!  You  do?  Now,  I  had  an  idea  you 
would  know  something  about  it.  You  are  not 


THE  KING'S    EVIDENCE      215 

in  the  habit  of  serenading  Milady  Di,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"  I  have  as  much  ear  for  music  as  a  cat,  Sir. 
I  fear  if  I  began  any  attempt  at  music  here, 
we  should  have  the  watch  upon  us  at  once." 

He  looked  up  at  Milady  Di's  window  with 
a  reflective  air. 

"  Faith,  this  reminds  me  of  The  Hague!" 
he  said,  in  a  reminiscent  tone  "  Plague  take 
the  man  who  built  this  house — it  is  too  high 
to  climb  up  there,  and  there  is  never  a  crevice 
where  one  could  lodge  one's  foot.  Never 
mind,  M.  d'Oreville — I  will  try  my  luck  as 
a  serenader,  and  trust  to  Milady  Di's  own  dis- 
crimination to  do  the  rest,"  and  he  began  to 
whistle  the  old  Royalist  air,  "  When  the  King 
enjoys  his  own  again." 

He  had  scarce  reached  the  second  verse 
when  a  light  showed  at  the  window.  A  mo- 
ment more  and  it  was  opened,  and  Milady 
Di  thrust  her  head  cautiously  out.  She  prob- 
ably recognized  the  King,  for  her  head  went 
in  again  quickly,  and  the  light  moved  from 
the  window.  Presently  we  heard  the  bolts 
of  the  door  begin  to  move. 


216  THE   SILVER    KEY 

"You  should  remember  that  air,"  His 
Majesty  said,  turning  to  me.  "  It  is  gifted 
with  very  remarkable  powers,  as  you  see. 
.  .  .  Di,  I  vow  I  am  sorry  to  spoil  your 
beauty  sleep,  but  I  must  have  a  word  with 
you  at  once." 

Milady  Di  stood  in  the  open  doorway  with 
her  taper  in  her  hand.  I  suppose  she  guessed 
at  once  upon  what  errand  the  King  had 
come,  for  she  faced  him  with  alarmed 
eyes. 

"  Your  Majesty  has  heard  something?  " 

"A  great  deal,"  he  answered — rather 
dryly,  I  thought.  "  Let  us  in,  and  you  shall 
hear  it." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  living-room  of 
the  folk  who  kept  the  kouse— good,  honest 
tradesmen,  I  should  judge — and  set  the  light 
on  the  table,  and  turned  hastily  to  His 
Majesty. 

"  He  is  well?  You  have  found  him?  "  she 
said.  "  Oh,  Sir,  tell  me— I  am  sure  you  have 
found  him— du  Bac  has  told  you  where 
he  is." 

The  King  stood  looking  at  her  for  a  mo- 


THE   KING'S    EVIDENCE       217 

merit,  with  a  look  of  regret,  of  pity,  on  his 
dark  face. 

"  'Tis  a  sorry  business,  Di,"  he  said.  "  Why 
did  you  not  trust  me,  sweetheart?  I  never 
said  you  nay  before.  I  would  have  done 
what  I  could  to  save  you  pain,  but  now  there 
is  no  way  out  of  it.  ...  Di,  I  have  not  found 
Robin  Carewe.  Not  even  a  King  could  do 
that." 

There  was  an  ominous  sadness  in  his  tone, 
and  I  saw  her  face  grow  white. 

"  He  is  dead?  "  she  said,  quite  quietly. 

He  moved  to  her  side  and  took  her  hand. 

"  He  is  dead,"  he  answered  very  gently. 
"  The  Robin  Carewe  you  knew  is  dead — the 
Robin  Carewe  you  loved  never  existed. 
What  am  I  to  say?  I  cannot  see  you  weep  for 
the  man,  Di,  for  he  is  not  worth  a  tear.  He 
but  made  court  to  you  for  your  money  and 
estates — he  was  faithless  to  you,  he  cared  not 
for  you  save  as  a  way  to  fortune.  He  even 
mocked  at  the  love  you  showed  him — to  an- 
other woman." 

She  sprang  away  from  him,  white,  indig- 
nant. 


218  THE   SILVER   KEY 

"  He  is  dead  and  cannot  defend  himself, 
Sir,"  she  cried,  "  and  you  come  here  to  slan- 
der him!" 

He  drew  a  bundle  of  letters  from  under 
his  cloak  and  laid  them  on  the  table  before 
her. 

"  It  is  no  slander,"  he  said.  "  Read  his 
own  words,  if  you  doubt  me." 

She  shrank  back,  looking  at  the  letters  witH 
frightened  eyes. 

"  No — no — it  is  false — I  will  not  read 
them." 

"  Milady  Diana,"  His  Majesty  said 
sternly,  "  I  have  some  rights  over  you,  I 
think.  I  will  not  have  you  patch  up  this  fel- 
low's memory  into  a  kind  of  angelical  vision 
of  every  quality  he  never  possessed.  I  com- 
mand you  to  read  those  letters  at  once." 

It  was,  I  think,  the  most  painful  scene  I 
ever  witnessed,  and  one  most  repugnant  to 
my  feelings.  With  an  aching  heart  I  saw 
Milady  Di  undo  the  packet,  and  read  the 
letters  slowly,  one  by  one.  It  was  unneces- 
sary to  speculate  upon  their  contents — they 
were  written  but  too  plainly  on  her  face.  Yet 


i  JT-L 


E   KING'S    EVIDENCE       219 


she  read  bravely  to  the  last  page.  Then  she 
thrust  the  things  from  her  as  though  each 
sheet  had  been  a  serpent,  and,  forgetful  of  the 
King's  presence,  forgetful  of  everything  on 
earth  but  the  terrible  disillusionment  she  had 
suffered,  dropped  into  a  seat  by  the  table  and 
hid  her  face. 

There  was  a  tragic  silence  in  the  room. 
The  King  stood  very  still.  Presently  he 
touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"Forgive  me,  Di!"  he  said,  very  low. 

She  did  not  move. 

"  I  loved  him,"  she  said,  in  a  strangled 
voice,  "  and  he  is  dead — and  he  could  write 
so  of  me!" 

Then  she  stood  up  and  faced  the  King  with 
dry,  blazing  eyes. 

"  He  was  murdered,"  she  said.  "  Du  Bac, 
or  one  of  his  agents,  did  him  to  death.  Do 
not  deceive  me,  Sir,  I  entreat  you.  What 
story  did  du  Bac  tell  your  Majesty?" 

"  Du  Bac  would  not  lie  to  me,  Di.  After 
Carewe  left  you  at  Chevron  he  was  to  return 
to  Paris.  He  never  reached  it — du  Bac  never 
saw  him  again.  But  lately,  when  making  some 


220  THE   SILVER   KEY 

more  inquiries,  one  of  his  agents  heard  a  tale 
at  an  inn  at  Cailly,  on  the  Paris  road,  which 
cast  a  light  on  the  affair.  On  the  night  of  the 
first  of  November,  a  gentleman  answering  to 
the  description  of  Carewe  came  to  the  inn, 
which  was  empty  at  the  time  save  for  one 
traveller.  The  inn  wench  told  the  story — 
and  it  took  a  heavy  bribe,  du  Bac  says,  to  un- 
loose her  tongue.  There  was  a  quarrel  of 
some  sort,  and  the  two  men  drew  upon  each 
other.  Carewe  was  killed — the  other  man 
fled.  There  you  have  the  story,  such  as  it  is. 
For  myself  I  choose  to  accept  it — du  Bac  has 
reason  to  be  careful  of  lying  to  me.  He  got 
from  the  girl  a  ring  with  Carewe's  arms  upon 
it,  which  I  doubt  not  she  plundered  from  his 
body.  The  proof  is  plain  enough." 

"  And  the  man  who  slew  Robin  had  fled?  " 

"  The  inn  wench  had  never  seen  him  be- 
fore, and  did  not  know  his  name,  or  so  she 
said." 

Milady  Di  stood  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  I  will  find  him,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  will 
find  him  somehow — somewhere;  and  I  will 
avenge  Robin.  I  will  hunt  that  man  down." 


,       THE   KING'S    EVIDENCE       221 

Her  face  showed  tense  and  cruel  as  she  spoke, 
beautiful  and  resentful  as  an  avenging  an- 
gel's. "  I  will  see  du  Bac,  and  drag  some 
more  from  him." 

"  Du  Bac  has  gone  to  Holland  on  some 
business  of  mine,"  His  Majesty  said.  "  I 
think  you  will  not  see  him  for  some  time.  I 
advise  you  not  to  think  of  vengeance — you 
will  buy  it  at  the  cost  of  much  pain  to  your- 
self it  you  do.  Vengeance — after  reading 
those!  "  He  pointed  with  sudden  scorn  to  the 
letters.  "  Why,  Di,  the  man  is  not  worth  it. 
He  deserved  what  he  got — you  have  no  need 
to  avenge  him." 

He  would  have  said  more,  but  she  stopped 
him. 

"  You  have  broken  my  idol  in  pieces,  Sir," 
she  said,  with  a  strange  sort  of  dignity  and 
pathos.  "Will  you  not  leave  me  the  pieces, 
for  they  are  all  I  have?  It  would  have  been 
kinder  to  have  let  me  keep  my  delusion,  I 
think — but  no  doubt  your  Majesty  knows 
best." 

"  You  think  me  cruel  now,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  You  will  think  differently  some  day.  Good- 


222  THE    SILVER   KEY 

night,  Di.  Forget — I  tell  you  it  is  best.  Do 
not  seek  to  know  too  much — 'tis  unwise,  in  a 
world  ordered  as  unwisely  as  ours.  And — 
when  you  are  far  away  from  him  again — try 
to  think  kindly  of  your  old  playfellow,  who 
has  done  you  a  bitter  service  to-night;  "  and  he 
kissed  her  hand  and  went  out  quickly,  leav- 
ing her  standing  there  with  the  letters  that 
proved  Robin  Carewe's  treachery  lying  be- 
fore her  on  the  table. 

I  attended  him  back  to  the  Castle,  and  he 
spoke  not  a  word  on  the  way;  but  he  gave  me 
an  odd  look  out  of  those  piercing  eyes  of  his 
when  he  left  me  at  one  of  the  smaller  doors. 

"  I  wish  you  good  luck,  M.  d'Oreville,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  cleared  the  course  for  you  to- 
night— see  to  it  that  your  horse  wins  the 
race!  "  And  he  went  in,  and  left  me  standing 
there  staring  after  him,  hat  in  hand,  and  won- 
dering what  in  the  name  of  mystery  itself  he 
might  mean. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FAREWELL   TO   DOVER! 

NEXT  day  came  the  end  of  our  pleasant  stay 
at  Dover.  With  as  much  ceremony  as  we 
had  landed,  we  were  to  embark,  with  every 
sign  of  honor  and  affection  which  could  be 
devised  to  celebrate  Her  Highness.  But 
alas!  not  all  the  state  and  ceremony  could  dis- 
guise the  inevitable  sadness  of  farewell.  In 
vain  the  blue  sea  smiled,  in  vain  the  cannon 
boomed  cheerfully  from  ships  and  shore.  In 
vain  a  gentleman  who,  I  was  informed,  had 
celebrated  the  escape  of  Her  Highness  to 
France  twenty  years  before — the  poet  Waller 
— now  presented  her  with  an  effusion  of  a 
like  kind  upon  her  present  departure.  Not 
all  her  customary  graciousness  could  hide  the 
sorrow  Madame  felt  at  leaving  once  more 
her  native  land. 

"  Fair,  lovely,  great,  and  best  of  nymphs,  farewell !  " 

Such  was  the  conclusion  of  the  poet's  part- 
223 


224  'THE   SILVER   KEY 

ing  verse — such  was  the  sentiment,  I  think,  in 
the  heart  of  everyone  assembled  to  bid  Her 
Highness  a  good  journey.  She  had  made 
countless  friends  during  her  all  too  short 
visit,  and  they  saw  her  depart  with  a  genuine 
regret  not  often  accorded  to  royal  visitors. 
To  one,  indeed,  this  parting  seemed  harder 
than  to  all  the  rest.  It  was  plain  to  see  that 
His  Majesty  was  in  little  heart  that  day, 
though  he  played  a  cheerful  part  with  his 
usual  grace,  and  bantered  Her  Highness's 
ladies  with  no  less  spirit  than  at  first.  He  de- 
layed his  farewell  by  sailing  in  our  vessel  for 
a  considerable  distance — he  had  a  passion  for 
the  sea  and  was  never  so  happy  as  when  upon 
it — but  at  last  the  evil  moment  came.  Her 
Highness  could  no  longer  restrain  her  tears, 
as  the  King,  who  had  been  speaking  earnestly 
with  Milady  Di,  somewhat  apart  from  the 
rest,  glanced  regretfully  at  the  fast-receding 
shores  of  England  and  gave  the  final  order 
for  his  departure. 

I  think  His  Majesty  had  a  hard  struggle 
to  retain  his  usual  composure  as  he  bade  his 
sister  farewell. 


FAREWELL  TO   DOVER!       225 

"  Nay,  Minette,"  I  heard  him  say,  "  'tis  but 
for  a  while,  and  next  time  it  shall  be  White- 
hall, and  a  right  merry  meeting." 

But  Her  Highness  shook  her  head. 

"  I  feel  as  though  I  should  never  see  you 
again,  Charles,"  she  said.  "  I  have  looked 
forward  to  this  meeting  for  so  many  years, 
and  now  'tis  over  in  a  moment,  like  a  dream. 
And  I  have  so  few  who  love  me,  and  my  life 
is  so  hard,  and  all  the  rest  are  gone — Mary, 
and  Henry,  and,  last  of  all,  our  mother;  you 
and  James  are  all  I  have  now,  and  I  ever 
loved  you  the  best." 

His  Majesty  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  figure  of  the  Duke  of  York  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

"  You  are  unjust  to  James,"  he  said  gener- 
ously. "  We  do  not  always  run  well  in  har- 
ness, I  own,  but  he  is  a  better  man  than  I — 
oddsfish,  'tis  not  giving  him  high  praise,  I 
fear!" 

"  You  Have  Heen  good  to  me,"  Madame 
said  through"  her  tears.  "Always,  always, 
since  I  was  a  little  maid,  you  have  been  good, 
and  kind,  and  thoughtful," 


226  THE    SILVER   KEY 

His  Majesty  seemed  strangely  moved  by 
her  words. 

"  I  think  you  are  the  only  thing  I  ever 
loved  truly,  dear  Minette,"  he  said.  "  Some- 
how I  care  little  for  people — there  is  more 
ice  in  me  than  I  am  given  credit  for.  I  amuse 
myself  with  them,  but  I  care  as  little  for  them 
as  for  that  gull  there  sweeping  overhead — 
they  mean  so  little  to  me,  even  when  they 
seem  nearest  to  me.  I  am  frightened  of  myself 
sometimes — I  think  I  could  see  every  man  or 
woman  I  know  go  to  the  block  and  never  feel 
a  stab  of  real  pain.  I  should  not  miss  them, 
save  as  creatures  that  ministered  to  my  com- 
fort or  my  pleasure.  And  then  I  think  of 
you,  and  I  know  that  if  harm  were  to  come 
near  you  it  would  break  all  the  heart  I  have 
left." 

"You  wrong  yourself,  Charles,"  she  an- 
swered, very  low.  "  You  wrong  yourself — 
you  are  better  than  the  world  thinks  you — 
you  are  better  than  you  think  yourself." 

I  was  the  only  person  near  them  at  the 
moment,  and  I  think  they  had  forgotten  my 
presence.  That  little  scene  touched  me 


227 

strangely.  The  mask  of  ceremony  had 
dropped  from  them — there  was  nothing  of 
state  in  these  last  few  words. 

"  No,  Minette,"  the  King  answered,  with 
infinite  sadness — with  infinite  bitterness.  "  I 
know  myself  very  well — better  than  you  do. 
I  hope  you  will  never  know  me  as  I  am — I 
hope  you  will  always  make  excuses  for  me,  as 
you  do  now.  You  say  I  have  been  good  to 
you — I  think  you  are  the  only  person  who 
could  say  that  with  truth." 

She  was  weeping  unrestrainedly  now.  I 
saw  her  turn  to  him  with  a  sort  of  passion, 
and  catch  his  hand. 

"  Charles — Charles — send  away  Bucking- 
ham and  Castlemaine,"  she  said.  "  They  are 
your  evil  angels — send  them  away — promise 
me  to  send  them  away!" 

He  patted  the  hand  he  held  very  kindly, 
as  he  would  have  caressed  the  hand  of  a 
child. 

"  Nay — I  cannot  promise,"  he  said.  "You 
mistake  me,  Minette — 'tis  not  Buckingham 
or  Barbara  that  is  my  evil  angel — 'tis  I  my- 
self. I  cannot  send  them  away  for  what  is 


228  THE   SILVER   KEY 

no  fault  of  theirs.  And  I  never  made  you 
a  promise  yet  but  I  kept  it,  whatever  I  have 
done  to  others — I  cannot  promise  what  I 
could  not  perform.  See — they  wait  for  me. 
I  must  go." 

But  she  clung  to  him  still. 

"  And  the  Treaty?  You  give  me  your 
word  you  will  keep  it? "  She  spoke  very 
low.  "You  will  come  back  to  the  Church, 
dear  Charles?  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,"  he  an- 
swered, in  a  tone  as  secret  as  hers.  "  Sooner 
or  later  I  will  do  that — you  may  trust  me," 
and  I  saw  her  smile  through  her  tears. 

I  have  often  thought  of  that  little  scene, 
and  of  how  His  Majesty  kept  his  word — he 
who  cared  not  to  keep  it  to  man  or  woman; 
of  how,  fifteen  years  later,  he  must  have 
thought  of  that  sunny  day  at  sea,  as  he  lay 
dying  at  Whitehall,  and  so,  with  his  last 
breath,  kept  the  promise  he  made  then,  in 
those  few  hurried  words,  to  the  sister  he  so 
dearly  loved — kept  it  for  her  sake,  perhaps, 
rather  than  in  fear  of  death,  and  because  it 
was  the  last  thing  she  asked  of  him. 


FAREWELL  TO   DOVER!       229 

And  now  all  was  haste  on  board,  as  the 
'King  and  Duke  made  their  departure.  But 
at  the  last  His  Majesty  still  hung  back,  as 
though  he  could  not  tear  himself  away. 
Thrice  he  bade  Her  Highness  farewell,  and 
thrice  came  back  to  bid  her  farewell  once 
more.  He  had  no  eyes  then  for  Milady  Di 
or  Mademoiselle  de  Keroualle,  who,  whether 
by  accident  or  design  I  know  not,  placed  her- 
self in  his  way;  and  when  at  last  he  had  gone, 
Madame  leaned  over  the  side  and  waved  to 
him  as  the  boat  which  bore  him  danced  away 
over  the  blue  waters. 

"  I  shall  never  see  him  again,  Di,"  she  said 
to  Milady  Diana,  who  was  the  foremost  of 
her  ladies  to  try  and  comfort  her,  and  indeed 
Mademoiselle  de  Keroualle  was  not  of  much 
assistance,  being  occupied  in  waving  a  like 
farewell  to  someone  in  the  King's  boat. 

"  I  vow  your  Highness  will  make  me  weep 
too,"  Milady  Di  cried.  "What,  never  see 
His  Majesty  again — that  were  a  melancholy 
fate!  I  am  sure  Louise  there  is  of  the  same 
opinion,"  and  she  cast  a  mischievous  glance 
at  the  pensive  maid-of-honor,  who  looked  at 


23o  THE    SILVER   KEY 

her  with  an  air  of  the  most  innocent  and 
candid  astonishment. 

"  I  protest  I  think  England  is  a  most  agree- 
able country,"  she  said,  with  great  sweetness. 
"  I  had  always  supposed  it  a  dull  place,  but 
I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  would  like  to 
see  Whitehall  and  Hampton.  Tell  us  of 
Whitehall,  dear  Madame." 

But  Madame's  heart  was  still  with  the  boat 
receding  fast  into  the  distance,  and  the  tall 
figure  waving  to  her  in  the  stern. 

"  Nay,  I  am  too  sad  to  babble  of  Whitehall. 
Does  His  Majesty  still  wave  to  us,  Di?  The 
sun  is  in  my  eyes,  I  do  not  see  him  now." 

"  If  your  Highness  pleases,  I  will  wave  a 
last  signal  to  His  Majesty,"  Louise  de 
Keroualle  answered  eagerly.  "  He  is  still 
looking  back,  I  think  he  sees  us  yet." 

Her  Highness  turned  a  little  impatiently 
from  the  girl,  and  put  her  white  kerchief  into 
Milady  Diana's  hand. 

"  Wave  him  farewell  for  me,  dear  Di," 
she  said.  "  My  arm  aches,  and  my  eyes  are 
dim  with  tears." 

So  it  was  Milady  Di  who  took  the  kerchief, 


FAREWELL  TO   DOVER!       231 

and  Milady  Di's  arm  that  waved  farewell 
to  King  Charles;  and  His  Majesty's  tall  fig- 
ure, easily  discernible  still  by  its  height  over 
everyone  else,  rose  in  the  boat,  and  bare- 
headed, he  kissed  his  hand  for  the  last  time, 
but  not  to  Mademoiselle  de  Keroualle.  And 
Madame  looked  back  at  him  with  sad  and 
longing  eyes. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  she  said.  "  Farewell, 
Charles — farewell,  England!  Now  for  exile 
once  morel" 

Of  the  rest  of  our  voyage  there  is  little  to 
say.  Royal  honors  were  accorded  every- 
where to  Her  Highness,  and  splendid  enter- 
tainment, but  she  seemed  to  have  little  heart 
for  the  greeting  of  her  adopted  country  after 
the  affection  shown  her  in  the  land  of  her 
birth.  She  had  returned  to  more  trouble,  as 
it  proved,  for  Monsieur  had  managed  to 
work  himself  into  the  most  unamiable  of 
moods  in  honor  of  her  arrival.  She  was 
met  by  him  a  few  miles  out  of  Saint-Germain 
— further  not  the  King  himself  could  induce 
him  to  go  to  meet  his  wife — with  sulky  looks 
and  ungracious  words.  And  Louise  de 


232  THE   SILVER   KEY 

Keroualle  for  once  voiced  the  general  opin- 
ion when  she  expressed  an  innocent  astonish- 
ment that  Her  Highness  should  ever  have 
had  the  ill  taste  to  exchange  such  a  brother 
as  His  Majesty  for  a  husband  like  Monsieur. 

So  Her  Highness  was  once  more  upon  the 
rack,  with  vexations  with  Monsieur;  but  to 
tell  the  truth  I  marked  them  little,  and 
thought  hardly  at  all  of  them  until  after- 
wards, when  every  event  of  those  few  days 
gained  a  sad  significance.  For  shortly  after 
Madame's  return,  Milady  Di  sent  for  me  to 
Saint-Germain  alone,  and  begged  me  to  go 
to  Cailly  for  her,  and  find  out  all  I  could  as 
to  the  end  of  the  man  she  had  loved,  who  had 
rewarded  her  affection  so  basely. 

I  went  to  Cailly.  I  found  the  inn,  the  inn- 
keeper, the  serving-wench,  and  got  her  in  a 
corner,  and  loosed  her  tongue  with  gold;  and 
she  told  me  more  than  I  had  ever  looked  to 
hear.  She  was  an  odd,  cross-spoken  girl. 
She  told  the  tale  of  Carewe's  brawl  with  the 
stranger,  exactly  as  His  Majesty  had  told  it 
that  night  at  Dover;  she  told  of  the  ring 
which|  she  said,  she  had  given  to  a  gentleman 


FAREWELL  TO  DOVER!       233 

with  ill-matching  eyes,  who  claimed  it;  and 
then  she  crossed  her  arms  and  looked  at  the 
money  I  had  given  her. 

"You  have  paid  more  than  the  other,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  There's 
not  a  word  of  it  in  that  tale.  The  man  with 
the  eyes  bade  me  tell  it  if  any  asked  me,  and 
I  swore  I  would,  and  I  have  done  as  he  bade 
me ;  but  I  never  said  how  much  more  I  might 
tell.  No  gentleman  like  your  friend,  mon- 
sieur, came  here  that  day;  no  gentleman  was 
killed  here;  and  the  ring  the  odd-eyed  cava- 
lier showed  me  himself,  on  his  finger — I 
know  not  where  he  got  it — it  was  not  from 


me." 


"Is  this  true?"  I  asked  her,  amazed. 

"  True  as  that  I  stand  here,  monsieur.  I 
thought  the  other  gentleman  had  a  game  of 
his  own  on,  when  he  swore  me  to  that  tale. 
He's  a  dangerous  rogue,  I'll  warrant,  as  ever 
walked  abroad.  The  tale  was  all  a  lie.  No, 
I  do  not  want  any  more  gold.  You  have 
given  me  enough.  All  I  ask  is  that  you  shall 
not  betray  me  to  the  odd-eyed  man." 

I  promised  this,  and  rode  back  to  Paris 


234  THE    SILVER   KEY 

in  much  perplexity.  Truly  this  vanishing 
of  Robin  Carewe  seemed  the  strangest  thing  f 
imaginable,  a  riddle  as  hard  to  solve  as  that 
of  the  Sphinx.  Here,  just  when  we  thought 
the  mystery  cleared  up,  we  were  met  with  an- 
other check.  Was  this  tale  really  what  du 
Bac  had  told  King  Charles,  and  had  His 
Majesty  been  so  easily  duped?  I  doubted  it 
as  I  thought  of  what  he  had  said  to  me,  when 
he  bade  me  good  luck  at  Dover  Castle  after 
his  interview  with  Milady  Diana.  I  doubted 
it  very  greatly.  I  thought  he  knew  more  than 
he  had  told  Diana,  but,  very  naturally,  I 
could  not  say  so  to  her.  And  I  felt  that  he 
had  somehow  a  kindness  for  myself,  and 
knew  of  my  love  for  the  beautiful  Huntress, 
and  wished  it  well.  Also,  I  felt  that  he  did 
not  wish  Diana  to  pursue  further  her  in- 
quiries as  to  Robin  Carewe's  death. 

Madame  had  now  moved  to  Saint-Cloud, 
and    thither  I  went  with  my  news.     I  told  < 
Miladi  Di  the  girl's  tale.    She  did  not  seem 
as  much  surprised  as  I  had  expected. 

"  Du  Bac  duped  His  Majesty,"  she  said. 
"  I  thought  so  at  the  time.    I  never  believed 


FAREWELL  TO   DOVER!       235 

in  that  tale.  There  is  something  behind  it. 
Oh,  if  I  could  see  du  Bac!  I  would  get  the 
truth  out  of  him  somehow.  He  alone  knows 
what  happened,  but  he  has  a  reason  for  keep- 
ing it  to  himself.  I  do  not  know  what  the 


reason  is." 


I  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"  Milady,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question 
you  may  not  care  to  answer.  I  hope  you  will 
pardon  me — 'tis  a  difficult  coil  to  undo,  as 
you  see.  Your  uncle  seemed  to  disapprove 
of  Master  Carewe's  suit,  but — what  if  he 
would  have  been  glad  of  your  marriage? 
What  if  he  paid  du  Bac  to  bring  it  about?" 

She  turned  pale  as  death. 

"The  letters!  His  Majesty  showed  you 
them!"  she  faltered,  with  a  sort  of  indigna- 
tion. 

"  On  my  honor,  he  showed  me  nothing. 
It  is  what  I  have  thought  all  along."  But 
I  know  what  was  in  those  letters  now. 

She  spoke  at  last,  reluctantly,  as  though 
against  her  will. 

"  The  letters  hinted  that  it  was  for  gain — 
for  what  could  be  got "  She  broke  off. 


236  THE    SILVER    KEY 

"Ah,  M.  d'Oreville,  spare  me — do  not  make 
me  repeat  it.  But  there  was  nothing  to  im- 
plicate my  uncle — nothing." 

"  M.  le  Due  is  a  clever  mart,"  I  said  dryly. 
"  Of  course  there  Was  nothing.  But  I  sus- 
pect that  is  what  he  was  about." 

"  But  then — then— it  was  to  none  of  their 
interests  that  Robin  should  disappear — 
should  die.  They  would  have  done  anything 
to  save  him— to— to— — " 

She  stopped  in  sudden  confusion. 

"  To  bring  the  marriage  about?  "  I  ended. 

She  turned  from  me  quickly,  and  was  silent 
for  a  moment. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last,  in  an  altered  tone, 
"to — bring  the  marriage  about,  as  you  say." 

She  got  no  further,  for  the  door  opened 
somewhat  violently  upon  Alain,  who  came  in 
with  every  appearance  of  the  liveliest  haste 
and  indignation. 

"Di— Di!"  he  cried.  "Do  you  know 
what  has  happened?  Tis  all  over  the  Court 
that  my  uncle  de  Chevron  is  off  to  England, 
to  claim  yodf  estates  of  King  Charles!  He 
swears  you  fflarried  Robin  Carewe  oh  the 


FAREWELL  TO   DOVER!       237 

night  of  the  ist  of  November,  when  you  saw 
him  for  the  last  time  at  Chevron." 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  we  both  sprang 
forward  at  once,  warned  by  Milady  Di's 
ghastly  face — and  without  a  word  or  a  cry 
she  staggered  forward,  and  I  caught  her, 
white  and  senseless,  in  my  arms. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  CHICORY  WATER 

WE  consigned  Milady  Diana  to  the  kind  of- 
fices of  Mademoiselle  de  Keroualle,  and  left 
Saint-Cloud  in  a  state  of  some  excitement. 
It  was  but  too  true,  I  found,  that  the  Due  de 
Chevron  had  gone  to  England  on  this  hostile 
errand.  Madame  la  Duchesse  was  left  be- 
hind in  the  Hotel  de  Chevron,  and  next  day, 
somewhat  to  my  dismay,  I  found  Alain  had 
rushed  off  there,  and  told  the  beautiful  statue 
a  piece  of  his  mind. 

"  Tis  all  a  vile  plot,"  he  said,  when  he  re- 
turned, in  a  very  heated  state  of  mind  indeed. 
"  Madame  la  Duchesse  is  in  it  too.  She 
knows  more  of  it  all  than  she  will  say — I 
always  detested  her,  and  her  grand  airs.  And 
I'll  swear  I  saw  du  Bac,  or  someone  very  like 
him,  sneak  in  by  a  back  entrance  as  I  came 
away." 

I  remembered  suddenly  that  vision  I  had 
seen  entering  the  back  way  at  the  house  in 

238 


THE   CHICORY   WATER       239 

the  Rue  Gabrielle;  and  an  indefinable  sus- 
picion woke  in  my  mind.  What  if  it  had 
been,  not  Diana,  but  Madame  de  Chevron 
herself,  whom  I  saw  that  night? 

"  But  du  Bac  is  in  Holland — King  Charles 
himself  told  us  as  much." 

"  Oh,  King  Charles!"  Alain  shrugged  his 
shoulders  with  huge  distaste.  "  Now,  let  me 
tell  you  at  once,  I  have  no  patience  with  your 
King  Charles.  He  has  as  many  tricks  as  du 
Bac.  I  do  not  believe  a  word  he  told  you.  I 
believe  it  was  du  Bac  that  I  saw — and  if  so, 
be  prepared  for  danger!" 

Alas,  how  little  prepared  we  were  for  dan- 
ger— how  little  we  guessed  the  terrible  form 
du  Bac's  vengeance  was  to  take! 

We  saw  Diana  again  in  a  day  or  two.  She 
was  grave  and  silent,  and  heard  Alain's  out- 
cry against  the  Due  and  her  sister  without 
even  a  smile.  She  said  not  a  word  about  their 
accusation. 

"  The  King  will  see  that  justice  is  done — 
he  will  stand  my  friend,"  she  said  once  or 
twice;  and,  indeed,  it  seemed  that  her  confi- 
dence was  not  placed  in  His  Majesty  in  vain, 


240  THE   SILVER   KEY 

for  a  day  or  two  afterwards  she  showed  us, 
with  more  comfort  than  she  had  shown  since 
she  had  first  heard  the  Due's  charge,  a  hur- 
ried note  from  the  King,  written  evidently  at 
much  speed,  and  with  more  show  of  feeling 
than  His  Majesty  usually  displayed  in  his  cor- 
respondence, and  marked  "  Haste,  in  the 
King's  name ! "  without,  in  his  own  hand. 

"  C.  is  here,  full  cry  after  my  Lord  Hunt- 
ingford's  estates,"  he  wrote.  "  Come  to 
Whitehall  with  what  speed  you  may.  He 
shall  have  nothing  that  I  can  keep  for  you,  so 
do  not  fear.  Men  call  me  ungrateful,  but  I 
have  not  yet  forgot  all  your  house  hath  lost 
for  mine,  nor  shall  do  so,  I  hope,  while  I 
live.  Greet  for  me  my  dear,  dear  sister. 
"  Your  old  friend  to  serve  you, 

"  C.  R." 

"  An'd  you  must  go?"  Alain  cried. 

"  Her  Highness  promises  me  leave  to  go  to 
England  in  a  few  days,  to  see  to  the  matter. 
She  has  begged  me  to  stay  over  Sunday  with 
her,  as  she  complains  of  not  feeling  well. 
After  that  I  shall  be  free," 


THE  CHICORY   WATER       241 

So  for  the  next  few  days  we  talked  of  her 
visit  to  England.  Mademoiselle  de  Keroualle 
went  so  far  as  to  remark  that  to  some  all  the 
good  fortune  of  life  seemed  to  fall  at  once — 
which,  being  said  in  the  presence  of  Her 
Highness,  caused  some  merriment. 

"  'Tis  plain  that  Louise  hath  lost  her  heart 
to  some  English  gallant,"  Madame  said, 
laughing.  "  I  vow  I  suspected  it  as  soon  as 
we  left  Dover.  Is  it  my  graceless  nephew 
James,  Louise?  I  will  rate  him  soundly  for 
it,  I  swear." 

But  Mademoiselle  de  Keroualle  would  not 
enlighten  us,  but  only  hung  her  fair  head 
with  every  appearance  of  charming  confu- 
sion, and  protested  that  she  had  scarce  spoken 
six  words  to  His  Grace  of  Monmouth; 
and  Her  Highness  began,  as  was  her 
wont,  to  speak  of  our  sojourn  in  England, 
and  repeat  what  pleasure  it  had  given 
her. 

And  so  we  came  to  the  Sunday  after  which 
Milady  Di  was  to  be  free  to  go  to  England. 
Alain  and  I  were  at  Saint-Cloud,  by  Ma- 
dame's  special  invitation.  She  said  that  we 


242  THE    SILVER    KEY 

should  like  to  see  the  last  of  Milady  Diana, 
as  she  was  so  soon  to  leave  us. 

"And  I  have  half  a  mind  to  go  with  her 
myself,"  she  said,  "  and  give  my  brother  a 
surprise.  How  delicious  it  would  be!"  and 
she  sighed,  sadly  enough,  her  situation  at  the 
moment  being  anything  but  cheerful,  owing 
to  the  continued  ill-humor  of  Monsieur, 
who  seemed  determined  to  treat  his  wife  the 
more  unkindly  that  he  saw  in  what  considera- 
tion she  was  held  by  much  greater  people 
than  himself. 

So  Sunday  came,  and  passed  quietly 
enough.  It  was  about  six  of  the  clock  that 
Milady  Di,  Alain,  and  myself  were  sitting 
by  the  Grande  Cascade  in  the  sweet  summer 
evening,  watching  the  waterfall.  Suddenly 
a  sound  of  flying  footsteps  broke  upon  our 
peace.  It  was  Marguerite,  pale,  breathless 
with  horror  and  excitement.  I  think  we  all 
sprang  to  our  feet  at  the  same  instant. 

"Madame — oh,  Madame!"  the  girl  cried 
despairingly.  "  She  is  poisoned — Her  High- 
ness is  poisoned!  Come  quickly,  milady,  for 
she  is  asking  for  you." 


THE  CHICORY  WATER       243 

As,  in  sorrow  and  consternation  unspeak- 
able, we  hastened  back  together,  she  told  us 
the  events  of  that  fatal  afternoon.  Her 
Highness  had  been  visited  by  Madame 
de  la  Fayette  and  Madame  la  Duchesse 
d'Epernon,  who  dined  with  her  and  her 
ladies  in  Monsieur's  apartments.  After- 
wards she  had  dozed  for  a  while  on  some 
cushions  spread  on  the  floor,  the  heat  being 
unusually  overpowering  at  that  time.  Mon- 
sieur, who  seemed  to  have  been  in  a  better 
temper  that  day,  was  starting  for  Paris  when 
Madame  de  Mecklenbourg  arrived.  He  re- 
turned with  this  lady  to  Her  Highness,  who 
conversed  with  her  for  some  while,  and  then, 
being  thirsty,  asked  for  something  to  drink. 
A  glass  of  iced  chicory  water  was  brought  to 
her,  and  at  once  she  was  seized  with  the  most 
frightful  pain,  crying  out  that  she  was 
poisoned,  and  that  she  was  about  to  die. 

Milady  Di  went  at  once  to  Her  Highness, 
and  Alain  and  I  lingered  in  the  hope  of 'being 
of  some  use.  It  would  be  impossible  to  de- 
scribe the  suspense  of  those  terrible  hours, 
during  which  all  was  done  that  could  be  done 


244  THE    SILVER   KEY 

to  save  Her  Highness,  and  all  attempts  alike 
proved  useless.  Hour  after  hour  went  by, 
and  still  Alain  and  I  waited,  in  ever-increas- 
ing anxiety.  The  news  had  spread,  and  other 
people  besides  ourselves  had  begun  to  arrive 
in  haste,  to  learn  if  the  dreadful  rumor  of 
Madame's  illness  were  indeed  true.  The 
King  and  Queen  arrived  from  Versailles, 
with  Mademoiselle  d'Orleans;  and  La  Val- 
liere  and  the  Montespan,  both  maids-of- 
honor  to  Her  Highness  in  earlier  days,  has- 
tened to  her  side.  Princes,  and  statesmen, 
and  soldiers,  and  Court  ladies,  and  helpless, 
bewildered  physicians,  and  priests — no  one 
could  do  anything,  for  there  was  nothing  to 
be  done.  Madame  was  indeed  dying,  as  she 
herself  had  declared  from  the  first — dying 
with  but  one  regret  in  her  mind,  with  but  one 
grief — the  thought  that  she  was  leaving  the 
brother  she  loved  so  well. 

"  Ah,  how  I  grieve  for  the  King! "  she 
said  to  the  British  Ambassador,  who  had  been 
summoned  to  Saint-Cloud  in  haste.  "  He  is 
losing  the  person  who  loves  him  best  in  the 
whole  world,"  and,  thinking  herself  pois- 


THE  CHICORY  WATER       245 

oned,  her  greatest  desire  was  that  His  Majesty 
should  never  be  allowed  to  know  it,  lest  it 
should  increase  his  grief  for  her,  and  lead 
him  to  take  revenge  upon  King  Louis. 

But  all  this  I  was  to  learn  afterwards. 
Soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  King  and  Queen, 
Alain,  who  had  disappeared  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, came  to  me,  and  dragged  me  out  into 
the  air. 

"  Herve,  I  have  found  out  something,"  he 
said*  "  I  have  been  with  Marguerite."  I 
had  bantered  him  often  upon  his  fondness  for 
the  society  of  Milady  Di's  pretty  serving- 
maid,  but  I  had  no  heart  to  do  so  now.  "  She 
is  in  dreadful  despairj  for  she  says  that  Ma- 
dame's  illness  is  her  fault  The  chicory  water 
which  was  poisoned  was  not  that  which  was 
prepared  for  Madame,  though  everyone 
thinks  it  was.  Marguerite  accidentally  broke 
the  bottle  in  which  it  was  kept,  and,  thinking 
to  remedy  the  accident,  fetched  Milady  Di's 
own  bottle  of  the  same  decoction  from  her 
room,  in  case  Her  Highness  should  want 
some  before  more  could  be  prepared." 

He  stopped,  looking  at  me  with  anxious 


246  THE   SILVER   KEY 

eyes,  and  panting  with  excitement;  but  I 
could  say  nothing,  for  a  coldness  of  utter  hor- 
ror was  upon  me. 

"  Do  you  not  see?  "  the  boy  went  on.  "  The 
chicory  water  Di  brought  with  her  from  the 
Hotel  de  Chevron — she  has  never  used  it 
since.  The  poison  was  never  meant  for  Her 
Highness — oh,  Herve,  it  was  meant  for  Di! 
It  was  prepared  for  her  by  someone  at  the 
Hotel  de  Chevron " 

"  It  was  prepared  by  Madame  de  Chev- 
ron at  the  instigation  of  that  arch-devil,  du 
Bac!  "  I  said,  interrupting  him. 

I  saw  it  all  nowl  They  had  waited  in  vain 
for  the  poison  to  be  used,  and,  finding  their 
scheme  seemed  to  have  failed,  thinking,  per- 
haps, the  chicory  water  had  been  thrown 
away  or  lost,  they  had  proceeded  to  other 
means  of  securing  the  estates  for  the  sake  of 
which  they  were  ready  to  commit  so  dastardly 
a  crime.  Or — I  remembered  that  figure 
gliding  in  by  the  back  entrance  in  the  Rue 
Gabrielle — what  if  this  stroke  had  been  pre- 
pared only  by  Madame  de  Chevron,  with 
the  help  of  du  Bac,  but  without  the  knowl- 


THE   CHICORY  WATER       247 

edge  of  the  Due?  Little  as  I  liked  the  Due, 
he  hardly  seemed  the  man  to  perpetrate  so 
terrible  and  dangerous  a  deed.  Yes,  that  was 

it.    The  murderer  was  Madame  de  Chevron, 

• 

who  had  hoped  to  remove,  with  her  sister's 
life,  the  one  obstacle  which  stood  between  her 
and  the  Huntingford  estates. 

"  I  will  go  at  once  to  the  Hotel  de  Chev- 
ron," I  said.  "Tell  the  girl  to  hold  her 
tongue,  Alain,  she  can  do  no  good  by  telling 
too  much  at  present.  I  will  go  at  once,  and 
secure  the  Duchesse." 

The  whole  establishment  was  in  such  dis- 
order that  I  could  not  find  a  servant  to  bring 
me  a  horse,  and  was  forced  to  go  to  the  stables 
and  saddle  my  own,  and  so  ride  off,  with  what 
speed  I  might,  and  the  saddest  heart  in  the 
world.  What  happy  days  I  had  spent  near 
that  gentle  and  gracious  lady  whose  end  had 
come  with  such  frightful  suddenness  and  in 
so  suspicious  a  manner!  I  remembered  all  her 
goodness  and  her  gaiety,  her  unfailing  sweet- 
ness and  charm;  and  I  swore  that  I  would 
have  no  mercy  upon  the  cruel  hand  which 
had  done  her  to  death. 


248  THE   SILVER   KEY 

I  rode  hard,  though  indeed  it  seemed  but 
slowly,  so  far  were  my  desires  before  the 
horse's  fleetest  pace.  When  I  reached  the 
Hotel  de  Chevron,  I  was  conscious  that  the 
consternation  of  Saint-Cloud  had  arrived  be- 
fore me.  The  place  was  in  disorder.  I  called 
a  servant,  and  demanded  to  see  Madame  la 
Duchesse. 

The  man  looked  at  me  stupidly. 

"  Faith,  that's  what  we  are  all  trying  to 
do,"  he  said.  "  You  will  not  see  her  to-night, 
monsieur.  An  hour  ago  came  tidings  which 
threw  her  into  a  fine  state.  She  called  for  her 
coach,  and  railed  at  us  all  for  being  so  slow, 
and  was  off,  it  may  be,  twenty  minutes  ago, 
as  though  the  devil  himself  were  after  her — 
and  indeed  I  think  he  will  get  her  some  day, 
great  lady  as  she  is." 

"What  road  did  she  take?"  I  cried. 

"  She  went  your  own  way,  monsieur,"  the 
man  said, — I  suppose  he  had  recognized  me 
by  this  time — "  to  Chevron ;  but  if  you  ask 
me,  I  think  she  will  make  either  for  the  fron- 
tier or  the  sea." 

From  Chevron,  I  knew,  she  might  make 


THE   CHICORY   WATER       249 

her  way  to  either,  but  I  did  not  think,  consid- 
ering all  things,  that  she  was  likely  to  make 
for  Calais! 

I  rode  on,  as  though  the  devil  had  me  in  his 
eye,  as  well  as  Madame  de  Chevron.  Twenty 
minutes'  start  was  little  enough,  considering 
that  she  went  in  a  coach  and  I  on  horseback; 
but  I  think  she  must  have  got  away  sooner 
than  the  man  said,  or  made  more  haste  than 
one  would  have  supposed  possible,  for,  ride 
as  I  would,  I  did  not  come  in  sight  of  the 
coach  until,  hampered  by  a  long  hill,  I  saw 
it  lumbering  before  me  into  Chevron-Savary, 
the  scene  of  my  first  memorable  meeting  with 
du  Bac  eight  months  ago. 

I  rode  with  loosened  rein  up  the  hill.  To 
my  astonishment,  the  coach  drew  up  at  the 
sign  of  the  Golden  Horse,  and  waited — was 
it  for  me?  I  reached  the  inn  door,  but  not 
before  Madame  de  Chevron  had  left  the 
coach,  for  when  I  arrived  the  clumsy  vehicle 
stood  empty.  I  called  a  man  to  hold  my 
horse,  and  went  unceremoniously  into  the 
wretched  little  place,  and  into  the  very  room 
where  du  Bac  had  come  into  my  life,  a  muf- 


250  THE   SILVER   KEY 

fled  figure  disguised  in  a  cloak,  with  a  taper 
in  his  hand. 

And  lo!  history  repeated  itself  before  my 
astonished  eyes  at  that  very  moment — with- 
out the  taper,  for  the  summer  evening  was  not 
yet  dark  enough  for  that.  In  the  room,  lean- 
ing against  the  table,  on  which  stood  the 
remnants  of  a  meal  and  a  half-empty  beaker 
of  wine,  stood  du  Bac,  who  looked  up  at  me 
as  I  entered  with  the  same  evil  gleam  of  baf- 
fled anger  in  his  eyes  which  I  had  remarked 
on  that  other  night  when  I  had  accidentally 
slain  his  friend. 

"  So,  M.  the  Marplot,"  he  said,  with  the 
utmost  coolness,  "it  seems  we  are  to  meet 
again." 

"  For  the  last  time,  I  hope,"  I  said,  draw- 
ing upon  him.  "  Do  you  understand  what 
you  have  done?  Her  Highness  lies  dying  at 
Saint-Cloud  by  your  hand,  or  that  of  Ma- 
dame de  Chevron — I  care  not  which." 

He  started  slightly. 

"  Ah,  I  might  have  known  a  woman  would 
manage  to  bungle  the  business,"  he  returned, 
with  disgusring  self-possession.  "  I  told  her 


THE   CHICORY   WATER       251 

that  chicory  water  was  a  mistake,  unless  she 
had  the  courage  to  pour  it  out  herself.  .  .  . 
Well,  monsieur,  what  have  you  to  say?  That 
the  game  is  up?  I  know  that  as  v/'ell  as  you." 

"  The  game  is  up  indeed,"  I  cried.  "  You 
shall  pay  for  your  villainies  at  last.  Draw, 
and  defend  yourself,  or  I  will  run  you 
through  where  you  stand!  " 

He  drew,  but  with  a  deliberation  which 
set  my  blood  boiling.  It  was  almost  as  though 
he  disdained  to  defend  his  life  against  my 
blade. 

"  So  be  it,"  he  said.  "  We  should  know 
each  other's  tricks  of  fence  by  this  time.  I  am 
at  your  service." 

So  again,  in  the  waning  light,  our  blades 
clashed  in  the  room  where  on  the  Jour  des 
Morts  I  had  fought  with,  and  slain,  a  man 
whom  I  did  not  know  and  had  not  meant  to 
slay.  I  think  a  very  fury  of  slaughter  pos- 
sessed me.  I  had  before  me  as  I  thrust  and 
parried  the  sweet  face  of  Henrietta  of  Eng- 
land— and  another  face  too,  sweeter  and 
dearer  still  to  me.  Oh,  to  avenge  them  both 
— the  victim  of  accident,  and  that  other  who, 


252  THE    SILVER    KEY 

by  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  had  escaped,  but  at 
the  cost  of  a  life  so  precious?  What  tears 
were  being  shed  even  now — what  sorrow  was 
beginning  for  two  nations — because  Diana 
Royal  had  escaped  the  fate  prepared  for  her 
by  a  treacherous  hand!  Even  as  I  made  my 
last  onslaught  upon  du  Bac,  the  thought  of  an- 
other beside  the  two  women  came  to  me — the 
thought  of  one  who  had  spoken  a  kindly  wish 
to  me  outside  Dover  Castle  only  a  few  nights 
ago;  and  I  made  a  last  effort  to  avenge  a 
sorrow  deeper  than  my  own  could  be.  "  King 
Charles!"  I  cried,  almost  involuntarily — and 
felt  du  Bac's  weight  upon  my  blade,  as  the 
rapier  tore  from  my  hand  and  he  went  down 
before  me  upon  the  floor. 

For  a  moment  I  stood  staring  at  him, 
hardly  believing  my  own  luck.  And  he 
raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  flung  his  use- 
less blade  away  from  him  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room. 

"  You  have  conquered,"  he  said,  in  the 
snarling  tone  I  remembered  so  well  on  the 
night  of  the  Jour  des  Morts.  "  From  the  mo- 
ment I  saw  you  first  you  have  baulked  and 


THE   CHICORY  WATER       253 

frustrated  me — I  might  have  known  you 
would  have  the  best  of  the  game  in  the  end. 
Well,  I  give  it  up.  You  have  killed  me.  I 
do  not  complain — I  would  have  killed  you  if 
I  could,  curse  you !  I  would  kill  you  now,  if 
I  could." 

I  cannot  describe  the  accent  with  which  he 
said  it,  or  the  baffled  hatred  which  glared 
from  his  eyes.  It  was  as  though  the  mere 
look  he  gave  me  had  the  power  to  blight  and 
burn  me  where  I  stood.  And  as  I  watched 
him,  as  one  might  watch  a  wounded  snake, 
afraid  to  venture  too  near  it  in  its  last  agonies, 
the  door  opened,  and  Madame  de  Chevron 
came  into  the  room,  and  then  stopped,  with 
a  cry.  Du  Bac  heard  it — he  turned  his  basi- 
lisk glance  upon  her. 

"  This  is  your  work,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
done  for  us  both.  I  wish  you  joy  of  your 
estates— you  have  bought  them  with  my  life," 

She  ran  to  him,  and  knelt  down  beside  him 
and  lifted  him  in  her  arms,  forgetful  of  her 
own  danger,  forgetful  of  my  presence,  forget- 
ful of  everything  in  the  world.  The  beauti- 
ful statue  had  changed  at  last  into  something 


254  THE   SILVER   KEY 

human,  but  it  was  a  humanity  which  could 
not  touch  me — the  terrible  deed  which  had 
brought  this  tragedy  about  was  too  fresh  in 
my  mind  for  that. 

"  It  is  not  true?"  she  cried.  "You  are  not 
hurt — we  will  escape  yet.  Say  you  are  not 
hurt — that  you  were  only  jesting  when  you 
told  me  you  were  killed ! " 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  kind  of  twisted 
smile,  as  though  the  love  of  torturing  some- 
thing were  still  stronger  in  him  than  any 
other  sentiment — as  indeed  it  was. 

"  There  is  no  escape  for  me,"  he  said. 
"  You  may  escape,  perhaps,  if  you  can  man- 
age to  make  terms  with  this  gentleman."  He 
turned  to  me,  and  made  a  last  effort  to  raise 
himself.  "  Listen  to  me,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
of  resentment  the  harshness  of  which  even 
approaching  death  could  not  soften.  "You 
think  you  are  through  your  troubles,  M.  de 
Marplot,  but  there  is  something  more  in  store 
for  you  yet.  You  will  not  carry  off  your 
beautiful  Huntress  so  easily.  Remember 
your  marriage,  M.  d'Oreville — remember 
that  at  any  moment  the  woman  you  married 


THE  CHICORY  WATER       255 

that  night  may  appear  to  claim  your  name — 
remember  that  the  blood  of  the  man  you  slew 
in  this  very  room  is  on  your  hands  as  well  as 
mine — remember,  I  say,  and  think  whether 
King  Charles  will  give  a  ward  of  the  Crown 
to  you.  Faith,  His  Majesty  may  play  strange 
tricks  with  marriage  himself,  but  he  is  not 
likely  to  give  Diana  Royal  to  a  man  already 
married,  as  he  knows  you  are." 

He  broke  off,  deadly  pale  and  almost  faint- 
ing, and  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  he  was 
gone  as  he  sank  back  in  Madame  de  Chev- 
ron's arms;  but  he  opened  those  evil,  ill- 
matched  eyes  upon  me  once  more,  in  a  smile 
of  gratified  vengeance. 

"  You  baulked  me  living,"  he  whispered. 
"  I  tell  you,  I  will  baulk  you  dead.  I  will 
stand  between  you  and  happiness,  and  curse 
you  to  the  day  you  die!" 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  last  flame  of  that  ter- 
rible and  mysterious  life  seemed  to  flicker  up, 
and  then  die  down  into  cold  ashes.  With  a 
cry  Madame  de  Chevron  bent  over  him — he 
was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  CLOSED  DOOR 

Du  BAG  was  dead — dead  by  my  hand.  I 
think  for  a  while  the  certainty  of  the  fact  was 
denied  me.  I  did  not  understand — I  could 
not  take  in  the  meaning  of  the  change  which 
that  one  sword-thrust  had  made  in  my  exist- 
ence. I  went  out,  leaving  Madame  de  Chev- 
ron with  all  that  remained  of  the  man  who 
had  persecuted  me  so  strangely,  and  bade  the 
servants  turn  the  coach  towards  Paris.  They 
made  no  resistance  to  my  commands.  In- 
deed, they  seemed  to  have  expected  pursuit 
and  capture  in  some  form  or  other  from  the 
first.  It  had  taken,  in  myself,  a  shape  they 
may  not  have  been  prepared  for,  but  they 
resigned  themselves  speedily  to  fate.  The 
horses'  heads  were  turned  towards  Paris 
again,  and  I  went  in  to  call  Madame  de 
Chevron. 

But  these  few  minutes  had  given  her,  as  I 
256 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR  257 

might  have  known,  a  last  chance  of  escape. 
She  was  gone — vanished  as  completely  as 
though  she  had  never  entered  the  inn  at  all. 
In  vain  I  sent  for  the  inn-keeper — in  vain 
we  searched  the  mean  little  place  from  garret 
to  cellar.  Madame  de  Chevron  seemed  sud- 
denly to  have  become  invisible. 

I  gave  up  the  search  at  last.  It  had  grown 
dark,  and  I  saw  that  there  was  no  chance 
of  regaining  my  prisoner  to-night.  I  was 
anxious,  too,  to  return  to  Saint-Cloud.  My 
horse  was  worn  out — I  was  forced  to  ride  on 
to  Oreville  and  get  a  fresh  one  from  my 
stables  there.  So,  with  some  loss  of  time,  I 
started  upon  my  ride  back. 

But  by  this  time  the  news  of  Madame's 
illness  had  caused  such  extraordinary  excite- 
ment that  progress  along  the  crowded  roads 
had  become  difficult.  Messengers  were  post- 
ing in  all  directions.  The  wildest  rumors 
were  afloat.  The  general  impression — not 
even  now  entirely  effaced — was  that  Mon- 
sieur, the  inexpressible  Monsieur,  had  pois- 
oned his  wife  in  revenge  for  the  affront  put 
upon  his  favorite,  the  Chevalier  de  Lor- 


258  THE   SILVER   KEY 

raine,  and  her  resolute  refusal  to  sue  for  that 
gentleman's  pardon  from  the  King.  Others 
swore  that  the  Chevalier  himself  was  the 
culprit.  I  had  no  heart  to  listen  to  half  the 
mad  tales  I  heard  on  that  saddest  of  nights. 
It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  before  I 
reached  Saint-Cloud;  and  as  I  dismounted, 
stiff  and  weary,  Alain,  sobbing  like  a  child, 
came  to  tell  me  that  our  sweet  Princess  was 
gone  from  us. 

"  And  Di  wants  to  see  you,"  he  said.  "  She 
is  with  the  Ambassador — I  think  she  wishes 
to  go  at  once  to  King  Charles." 

He  led  me  to  a  little  room  which  had  been 
a  favorite  with  Her  Highness,  and  where 
her  guitar  lay  idle  upon  the  chair  she  loved 
best  to  sit  in,  and  her  little  dog  lay  asleep  be- 
side it,  unconscious  of  the  fate  of  his  mis- 
tress. 

Milady  Di  came  to  meet  us,  pale  and  ob- 
viously shaken,  but  with  a  self-command 
which  shamed  most  of  those  about  her  that 
night,  and  introduced  me  to  the  British  Am- 
bassador, M.  de  Montagu,  who  had  been 
even  then  engaged  in  writing  an  account  of 


THE    CLOSED    DOOR          259 

the  sad  event  which  had  just  befallen  us  and 
King  Charles  alike.  The  ink  was  wet  on  his 
pen  as  he  laid  it  down. 

"  This  has  been  a  terrible  night,  M.  de 
Oreville,"  he  said.  "  'Tis  well,  perhaps,  that 
few  Royal  personages  have  such  graces  as 
Her  Highness,  since  the  loss  of  such  a  prin- 
cess afflicts  us  like  this.  I  do  not  know  how 
His  Majesty  will  bear  such  a  blow — I  pro- 
test, I  think  he  has  been  more  devoted  to 
Madame  than  to  any  other  human  creature. 
He  is  capable  of  going  to  great  lengths  if  this 
story  of  poison  be  true — and  especially  if 
Monsieur  be  suspected  of  having  had  a  finger 
in  it." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  tale  too?  "  I  asked, 
in  some  surprise. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  air  of 
bitterness  and  resentment  wholly  undiplo- 
matic, yet  exceedingly  human. 

"  I  speak  in  confidence,  and  among 
friends,"  he  said.  "  I  never  had  much  opin- 
ion of  that  detestable  little  fop,  and  my  only 
doubt  of  his  guilt  is  the  reason  that  I  think; 
I  scarce  believe  him  capable  even  of  the 


260  THE   SILVER   KEY 

worst  action  which  required  some  decision 
of  character  to  perform  it." 

"  One  should  give  the  devil  his  due,  M.  de 
Montagu,"  I  told  him.  "  In  this  case  I  fancy 
Monsieur  is  innocent" — and  I  informed  him, 
as  briefly  as  I  could,  of  my  reasons  for  believ- 
ing Monsieur  not  guilty. 

He  heard  me  with  no  great  show  of  convic- 
tion. 

"  You  had  best  go  to  England  with  Milady 
Diana,  and  tell  what  you  have  told  me  to  His 
Majesty,"  he  said.  "  I  will  not  affront  you, 
M.  d'Oreville,  by  seeming  to  doubt  your 
story,  but  I  confess  I  am  not  much  convinced 
of  Monsieur's  innocence,  save  on  the  grounds 
I  mentioned  but  now  " — and  indeed  he  al- 
ways suspected  Monsieur,  as  I  afterwards 
heard,  though  not  able  actually  to  accuse 
him. 

Milady  Diana  turned  to  me. 

"M.  de  Montagu  is  sending  Sir  Thomas 
Armstrong  to  London  at  once,"  she  said.  "  I 
have  persuaded  him  to  let  me  go  too  under 
his  escort  and  that  of  Alain,  if  you,  M. 
d'Oreville,  will  accompany  us.  I  think  I 


THE    CLOSED    DOOR         261 

owe  it  to  His  Majesty  to  go  without  delay 
— Her  Highness  charged  me  most  urgently 
to  return  to  Whitehall  and  endeavor  to  pre- 
vent His  Majesty's  grief  and  resentment  from 
taking  too  extreme  a  form." 

Montagu  shook  his  head. 

"  You  are  worn  out,  Milady  Di,"  he  said 
kindly,  "  and  would  be  better  in  your  bed 
than  riding  off  to  Calais  in  order  to  spare  His 
Majesty's  feelings.  Still  I  own  that  he  may 
listen  to  you  when  he  will  not  listen  to  me — 
'tis  ever  his  way.  Go,  if  you  like — Arm- 
strong will  be  but  too  charmed  to  have  your 
company  on  the  way." 

So  the  matter  was  settled,  Sir  Thomas 
Armstrong,  who  entered  the  room  at  that  mo- 
ment, declaring  himself  quite  of  Milady  Di's 
opinion  that  she  should  go  to  Whitehall  with- 
out delay. 

"  But  I  will  not  disguise  from  you  the  fact 
that  we  must  ride  as  hard  as  we  can,"  he  said, 
looking  doubtfully  at  her  pale  face;  at  which 
she  gave  the  first  smile  I  had  seen  on  anyone's 
countenance  that  night. 

"  The  Fighting  Royals,  Sir  Thomas,"  she 


262  THE   SILVER   KEY 

said  gallantly,  "  have  never  yet  learned  how 
to  spare  themselves  in  the  service  of  the 
King!" 

And,  indeed,  I  think  that  not  my  Lord  of 
Huntingford  himself,  charging  at  Edgehill 
or  Naseby  Fight,  could  have  borne  himself 
more  valiantly  than  Milady  Diana  did, 
when,  at  six  o'clock  on  that  summer  morning, 
we  rode  off  to  Calais.  Hard  and  fast  we 
rode,  and,  by  the  mercy  of  Providence,  had  a 
good  crossing,  and  so  rode  on  from  Dover — 
with  what  sad  remembrances  of  our  former 
arrival  there! — to  London.  Sir  Thomas 
Armstrong  went  straight  to  Whitehall,  but 
Milady  Di,  being  worn  out  by  that  time,  be- 
took herself  and  us  to  the  house  of  a  cousin 
of  M.  de  Montagu,  where  she  said  we  should 
be  very  welcome ;  as  indeed  we  were,  though 
the  news  we  bore  caused  the  greatest  sorrow 
and  consternation  in  that  household,  and 
directly  it  became  generally  known,  through- 
out the  whole  city,  where  the  mob  rose  in  a 
positive  delirium  of  grief  and  fury,  and 
shouted  death  to  the  Frenchman  who  had 
murdered  an  English  princess.  Sir  Thomas 


THE    CLOSED    DOOR         263 

Armstrong  returned  after  some  hours  from 
Whitehall,  and  gave  us  an  account  of  his  in- 
terview with  King  Charles. 

"  Faith,  I'll  never  call  His  Majesty  selfish 
or  ungrateful  again,"  he  said.  "  He  may  be 
anything  he  chooses,  but  he  was  capable  of 
loving  one  person  on  earth,  and  he  has  lost 
her,  and  he  knows  it.  I  had  never  thought  to 
pity  Old  Rowley,  but  I  did  so  to-day.  He 
made  me  repeat  every  message  Her  Highness 
left  for  him  with  M.  de  Montagu,  and  I 
think  his  grief  would  have  melted  a  stone. 
'Twas  all  the  worse  because  you  know  he 
never  gives  himself  the  rein,  but  is  ever  as 
urbane  as  possible — save  when  he  is  drunk, 
as  I  have  seen  him,  or  in  the  devil's  own  tem- 
per. It  did  not  comfort  him  to  swear  at 
Monsieur,  even,  as  he  did  most  frightfully. 
I  think  if  that  detestable  creature  had  been 
at  hand,  he  would  have  had  his  neck  wrung 
to  a  certainty — he  may  thank  Fortune  that 
the  Channel  is  between  him  and  His  Majesty. 
'And  he  bade  me  greet  you,  Milady  Diana, 
and  tell  you  that  at  the  first  moment  he  could 
find  courage  to  do  so  he  would  see  you,  but 


264  THE    SILVER    KEY 

he  dared  not  do  that  at  present;  and  asked 
after  you  most  kindly,  and  said  I  was  to  thank 
you  for  your  hard  ride — 'twas  what  he  would 
have  looked  for  in  your  father's  daughter.  I 
told  him  of  M.  de  Oreville's  errand,  and  he 
said  he  would  send  for  him  in  a  few  hours' 
time,  and  hear  what  he  had  to  say,  but  that 
for  the  present  he  could  bear  nothing  more, 
and  so  sent  me  away." 

More  than  a  few  hours  elapsed,  however, 
ere  I  was  to  see  His  Majesty.  The  popular 
excitement  was  extreme.  The  French  Am- 
bassador's house  had  to  have  a  guard  of 
soldiers  placed  upon  it,  lest  the  mob  should 
break  in.  The  idea  that  Madame  had  been 
poisoned  was  quite  general,  and  was  every- 
where believed.  The  Duke  of  Buckingham 
was  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  anger  and  de- 
spair, he  having  always  been  credited  with  a 
romantic  affection  for  Her  Highness,  and 
Prince  Rupert  boldly  expressed  his  opinion 
that  she  met  her  death  by  foul  play.  There 
was  even  much  talk  that  this  would  bring 
about  a  war  with  France,  since  His  Majesty 
certainly  would  not  let  the  murder  of  his 


THE   CLOSED   DOOR          265 

favorite  sister  go  unavenged,  and  many  bold 
and  turbulent  spirits  were  greatly  stirred  by 
this  possibility.  I  did  not  venture  much 
abroad,  considering  the  unpopularity  of 
everyone  of  my  nationality  in  London,  but 
stayed  quiet,  and  heard  the  news  from  visitors 
who  came  to  the  house  mostly  to  welcome 
Milady  Diana.  The  Due  de  Chevron,  we 
heard,  had  been  prosecuting  his  business  of 
claiming  the  Huntingford  estates  with  much 
spirit,  and  his  claims  had  caused  something 
of  a  sensation  at  Court,  where  Milady  Diana 
was  a  general  favorite,  until  Madame's 
death  eclipsed  all  smaller  matters.  The  Due 
had  been  most  anxious  to  have  an  audience 
with  His  Majesty,  who  so  far  had  not  conde- 
scended to  see  him,  and  had  been  heard  to 
say  openly  that  the  Due  had  not  a  jot  of  evi- 
dence on  his  side. 

"  Though  how  that  can  be,"  young  Arm- 
strong said  to  me  in  private,  "  I  do  not  pro- 
fess to  know,  for  the  Due  swears  he  has 
papers  to  prove  the  marriage,  and  can  pro- 
duce witnesses  and  the  priest  who  performed 
it.  'Tis  an  odd  business,  when  a  lady  does 


2'66  THE    SILVER   KEY 

not  know  whether  she  is  married  or  not.  I 
do  not  understand  what  Milady  Diana  was 
about.  She  has  not,  so  far  as  I  have  heard, 
denied  the  charge — and  as  Master  Carewe, 
according  to  the  Due's  account,  is  dead,  it 
seems  a  hard  matter  to  prove  who  is  in  the 
right." 

"  You  do  not  for  a  moment  imagine  that 
Milady  Di  married  the  man?"  I  asked — for 
the  idea  of  such  a  possibility  had  never  en- 
tered my  own  dull  head. 

"  Faith,  I  do  not  know  what  to  imagine," 
he  answered  frankly.  "  I  can  believe  poor 
Carewe  capable  of  any  trick,  but  I  should  be 
sorry  to  think  any  harm  of  Milady  Di,  whom 
I  have  known  all  my  life." 

"  I  hope,  Sir  Thomas,"  I  said,  "  that  you 
will  not  think  any  harm  of  her,  as  you  phrase 
it,  or  I  should  certainly  feel  myself  con- 
strained to  prove  to  you  that  you  were  very 
much  mistaken." 

"Oddsfish,  as  His  Majesty  says,  you  must 
not  seek  to  quarrel  with  me  on  that  ground, 
M.  d'Oreville,"  he-  said,  with  the  utmost 
good-humor.  "  I  am  Milady  Di's  sworn 


THE   CLOSED   DOOR          267 

adherent,  I  promise  you,  and  would  not 
breathe  a  word  against  her  if  I  knew  she  were 
ever  so  deep  in  the  wrong.  But  I  do  not 
think  we  need  distress  ourselves,  for  she  has 
a  friend  who  is  not  likely  to  desert  her  in 
King  Charles,  and  he  swears  that  the  Due 
shall  never  be  master  of  an  inch  of  the  Hunt- 
ingford  estates — I  was  told  so  only  to-day,  by 
no  less  a  person  than  His  Grace  of  Bucking- 
ham, who  declares  he  never  saw  His  Majesty 
so  resolved  on  any  point  in  all  the  years  he 
has  served  him.  'Tis  a  new  character  for  Old 
Rowley — that  of  the  protector  of  injured  in- 
nocence," he  added,  laughing,  "  and  I  do  not 
pretend  that  he  would  be  as  active  on 
Milady  Di's  side  were  she  the  ugliest  woman 
at  Whitehall,  instead  of  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful. But  we  must  take  poor  humanity  as 
we  find  it,  M.  d'Oreville — especially  when 
'tis  the  humanity  of  kings!" 

On  the  humanity  of  a  king  hung,  at  any 
rate,  Milady  Diana's  fortunes  at  that  mo- 
ment, and,  I  felt,  my  own  as  well.  I  was 
anxious  to  see  the  King,  and  Sir  Thomas 
Armstrong,  though  declaring  that  it  was  of 


268  THE    SILVER   KE\ 

no  use  to  try  for  an  audience  before  His 
Majesty  summoned  me,  he  being  inconsol- 
able at  the  loss  of  Madame  and  refusing  to 
transact  either  business  or  pleasure,  yielded 
to  my  entreaties,  and  took  me  with  him  next 
day  to  Whitehall. 

We  found  on  arrival  there  that  there  was 
no  chance  of  seeing  His  Majesty,  who  was  in 
his  closet,  with  closed  doors,  and  would  see 
no  one,  save  perhaps  the  irrepressible  Buck- 
ingham, who  would  not  as  a  rule  take  denial 
from  his  master.  Apparently  His  Majesty's 
desire  for  solitude  had  been  freely  advertised, 
for  Whitehall  seemed  all  but  deserted.  Sir 
.Thomas  had  a  little  business  of  his  own  to 
transact,  and  then  showed  me  as  much  of  this 
palace  as  could  be  seen,  and  so  came  to  a  large 
ante-chamber,  where  several  were  standing 
about,  talking,  among  whom  I  recognized 
His  Grace  of  Buckingham,  in  the  most  splen- 
did of  mourning,  and  not,  it  appeared,  inor- 
dinately out  of  spirits  through  the  wearing 
of  it,  His  Grace  being,  as  indeed  I  knew,  of 
too  volatile  a  nature  to  retain  even  the  most 
sincere  and  painful  of  impressions  for  very 


THE   CLOSED   DOOR          269 

long.  So,  now,  he  was  bantering,  though  in  a 
somewhat  subdued  tone,  a  gentleman  who 
stood  beside  him;  and  all  the  others  seemed 
occupied  with  gossip  and  the  like,  not  of  a 
very  serious  nature.  But  at  a  closed  door  at 
the  other  end  of  the  apartment  stood  one  fig- 
ure to  which  no  one  seemed  to  pay  much 
heed,  but  which  no  ripple  of  laughter  was 
able  to  turn  from  its  occupation.  This  was 
a  young  woman  of  nineteen  or  twenty,  very 
pretty,  with  a  great  mass  of  tumbled  brown 
curls,  who  stood  leaning  against  the  closed 
door,  as  though  listening  for  some  sound 
from  the  room  within,  and  holding  in  her 
arms  a  tiny,  silky  spaniel  which  seemed  as 
intent  on  the  door  as  she  was,  and  would  now 
and  then  break  into  a  whine,  and  lift  its 
soft  nose  to  her  cheek,  as  though  in  sym- 
pathy. 

I  think  the  gentleman  who  was  speaking  to 
His  Grace  of  Buckingham  drew  his  attention 
to  the  girl  and  her  occupation,  for  as  we  ap- 
proached he  left  his  companion,  and  sauntered 
over  to  where  she  stood. 

"  Come,  Nelly,  'tis  no  good  waiting  there," 


270  THE    SILVER   KEY 

I  heard  him  say.  "  He  will  not  see  you,  nor, 
faith,  will  he  see  me." 

She  clasped  the  spaniel  a  little  closer,  and 
lifted  a  face  full  of  genuine  distress. 

"  Oh,  Buckingham,  let  me  in — get  him  to 
let  me  in ! "  she  said.  "  I  will  not  plague  him 
with  my  chatter,  I  will  sit  as  still  as  a  mouse. 
He  never  shut  me  out  before." 

"  Faith,  I  protest,  I  never  thought  so  poorly 
of  His  Majesty's  taste,"  His  Grace  returned. 
"  But  we  are  all  in  the  same  .sad  condition, 
sweetheart — Old  Rowley  has  given  us  the  cold 
shoulder,  with  a  plague  on  it!  Even  the  ladies 
— oddsfish!  he  must  be  in  a  melancholy  state 
indeed.  Poor  Nelly's  occupation's  gone — my 
Lady  Castlemaine  is  taking  a  holiday  up  the 
river — Buckingham,  as  you  see,  is  left  to  dan- 
gle his  dishonored  heels  in  the  ante-chamber. 
The  sun  has  gone  in,  Nelly,  and  we  must  make 
the  best  of  a  rainy  day.  Take  a  holiday,  my 
dear,  like  the  fair  Barbara,  or  the  Queen,  who 
is  at  her  prayers — 'tis  not  often  she  gets  a 
chance  of  indulging  so  freely  in  her  favorite 
occupation.  Zounds,  'twill  be  a  day  of  dis- 
sipation indeed  for  her  pious  Majesty!" 


THE   CLOSED   DOOR          271 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head  with  an  air  of 
pettish  resolution;  and  the  little  spaniel,  with 
a  whine,  held  out  an  appealing  paw,  which 
His  Grace  took,  kindly  enough. 

"  What,  poor  Fido  too?  "  he  said.  "Nay, 
I  protest,  this  is  too  cruel.  Old  Rowley  is 
indeed  in  a  stony  mood.  Do  not  stand  here 
any  longer,  Nelly — take  the  little  beast  for  a 
rurr  in  the  sunshine ;  you  were  neither  of  you 
meant  for  rainy  days,  poor  minions!" 

"  Nay,  I  will  not  go,"  she  said,  with  a  sob. 
"  I  do  not  care  for  the  sun.  Why  will  he  not 
let  me  in,  Buckingham?  I  would  rather  be 
beaten  than  shut  out  like  this." 

His  Grace  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  'Tis  Old  Rowley's  way  of  beating  one,  I 
suppose,  sweetheart.  He  is  out  of  temper  with 
all  the  universe  since  Her  Highness  died. 
Ah,  'tis  easy  to  understand  his  mood ! "  he  said, 
with  a  sigh,  and  left  her,  and  went  back  to  his 
friend. 

As  we  left  the  ante-chamber  I  paused,  and 
looked  back.  Still  the  careless  groups  chat- 
tered and  gossiped  together;  but  Mistress  Nell 
Gwyn  leaned  like  a  pretty  statue  of  herself 


272  THE    SILVER    KEY 

against  the  closed  door  of  the  King's  closet. 
The  little  spaniel  had  escaped  from  her  arms, 
and  lay  motionless  on  the  floor,  his  silky  ears 
trailing  in  the  dust,  his  nose  against  the  thres- 
hold of  the  forbidden  chamber,  anxiously 
awaiting  the  whistle  which  was  to  call  him 
back  to  favor. 

The  Queen  was  at  her  prayers;  my  Lady 
Castlemaine  was  taking  a  holiday;  even  Buck- 
ingham had  his  distractions :  but  at  the  door 
of  the  King's  closet,  never  so  shut  on  them  be- 
fore, the  woman  and  the  dog,  touchingly  in- 
consolable and  aloof  from  all  around  them, 
waited  with  a  patience  which  defied  time,  de- 
votion which  shamed  the  empty  lip-service  of 
a  Court,  waited,  not  for  gold  or  honors,  but 
only  in  the  vain  hope  that  their  master  might 
admit  them  to  a  share  in  his  grief,  as  they  had 
so  often  been  partakers  in  his  gaiety. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  PRIVY  GARDEN  AT  HAMPTON 

OUR  business  in  London  still  seemed  hard  to 
accomplish,  for  the  King  summoned  neither 
Milady  Di  nor  myself  to  an  audience,  and  we 
had  only  the  annoyance  of  hearing  that  the 
Due  de  Chevron  was  much  abroad,  and  ex- 
pressed himself  everywhere  as  very  certain  of 
success.  At  last  Milady  Di,  tired  of  waiting 
upon  His  Majesty  in  vain,  betook  herself  to 
Huntingford  House,  to  look  into  her  own  af- 
fairs there,  leaving  me  to  wait  for  the  King's 
pleasure.  The  day  after  she  had  gone  Sir 
Thomas  Armstrong  brought  word  that  His 
Majesty,  with  a  small  train,  had  gone  down  to 
Hampton;  and  it  was  from  Hampton  that  I 
suddenly  received  a  summons  to  attend  him. 

I  shall  not  soon  forget  the  charming  aspect 
of  that  palace,  in  the  clear  summer  weather, 
with  its  green  walks  winding  to  the  river,  its 
pretty  nooks  and  arbors,  its  profusion  of 

flowers.     I  came  to  His  Majesty  in  the  Privy 

273 


274  THE   SILVER   KEY 

Garden,  a  spot  of  delightful  greenness,  where, 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  little  spaniels,  and 
followed  by  but  two  or  three  gentlemen  in 
attendance,  he  was  lounging  by  the  brink  of  a 
pretty  fountain,  throwing  crumbs  to  the  gold- 
fish, in  which  pleasing  occupation  he  was  as- 
sisted by  Mistress  Nell  Gwyn,  who  seemed  to 
have  come  back  into  favor  together  with  the 
frisking  spaniels. 

"  Here  is  one  come  to  tell  me  of  grievous 
matters,"  I  heard  him  say,  as  I  approached. 
"  Run  away,  Nelly — I  protest,  the  goldfish 
will  be  surfeited  with  crumbs.  M.  d'Oreville, 
I  have  kept  you  waiting  a  plaguey  long  time, 
I  fear,  but  I  have  had  little  heart  for  audi- 
ences, as  you  will  understand." 

"  I  can  understand  but  too  well,  Sir,"  I 
said,  "  having  indeed  had  my  own  small  share 
in  your  Majesty's  sorrow,  as  have  all  who  were 
privileged  to  know  Her  Highness." 

He  nodded  hastily,  as  though  to  prevent  me 
from  saying  more. 

"Yes — yes — enough,  M.  d'Oreville;  'tis 
very  kind  of  you — I  know  all  you  would  say, 
but  I  would  rather  not  hear  it.  Tell  me  what 


THE   PRIVY   GARDEN         275 

you  are  obliged  to  tell  me,  and  no  more.  I 
have  grieved  so  much  for  my  sister  that  I 
scarce  dare  think  of  her,  and  that  is  the  truth. 
I  have  been  trying  all  the  morning  to  occupy 
myself  with  matters  less  sad.  .  .  .  Gentlemen, 
you  may  retire." 

Those  in  attendance  withdrew  obediently 
out  of  earshot;  but  Mistress  Nelly  either  had 
not  heard,  or  had  not  chosen  to  hear,  the 
King's  dismissal,  and  apparently  he  had  for- 
gotten it,  for  she  remained,  in  company  with 
the  innumerable  little  dogs.  His  Majesty 
seemed  to  pay  little  more  attention  to  her  pres- 
ence than  to  that  of  these  other  pretty  fav- 
orites, of  which  he  seemed  very  fond,  taking 
them  up  now  and  then  and  stroking  them,  and 
holding  them  under  his  arm  as  he  talked  with 
me,  which  he  did  with  the  most  natural  and 
pleasant  manner  in  the  world,  saying  Sir 
Thomas  Armstrong  had  told  him  something 
of  my  business,  but  he  wished  to  hear  of  the 
matter  of  the  attempt  upon  Milady  Diana 
from  my  own  lips. 

So  I  told  him  of  Maguerite's  discovery,  and 
of  the  fatal  accident  which  had  cost  Madame 


276  THE   SILVER   KEY 

her  life.  I  observed  that  his  face  changed 
when  Her  Highness  was  mentioned,  and  I 
thought  once  or  twice  that  he  had  something 
of  a  struggle  to  retain  his  self-command.  He 
heard  of  my  ride  after  Madame  de  Chevron 
with  interest,  and  listened  intently  to  what  I 
told  him  of  the  end  of  du  Bac. 

"  So  that  man  is  gone,"  he  said,  when  I  had 
done.  "  Oddsfish,  the  sound  of  his  name  takes 
me  back  to  the  old,  uncomfortable  days  at  The 
Hague  and  Rotterdam,  when  the  King  of 
England  had  not  two  shillings  to  rub  together! 
He  was  a  precious  rogue,  I  fear — but  perhaps 
you  think  that  Old  Rowley  should  not  pass 
judgment  upon  his  fellows,"  he  added,  with  a 
smile.  "  Faith,  I  admit  I  have  no  right  to 
brag.  .  ,  .  Well,  I  fancy  Madame  de  Chev- 
ron has  disappeared  for  good,  M.  d'Oreville. 
'Tis  not  a  surprise  to  me  that  she  should  have 
acted  like  this,  for  she  was  never  a  favorite 
of  mine,  and  hated  Milady  Di,  I  think,  for 
that  very  reason.  I  hear  that  the  Due  bears 
her  loss — which  he  has  learned,  though  I 
know  not  how — with  extraordinary  compo- 
sure. I  suppose  he  is  so  sure  of  getting  the 


THE   PRIVY   GARDEN         277 

Huntingford  estates  that  the  loss  of  a  wife 
does  not  affect  him  severely." 

"  But  your  Majesty  does  not  imagine  he  has 
any  chance?"  I  said. 

He  stroked  the  soft  head  of  the  spaniel  on 
his  arm  for  a  moment  in  silence  before  he 
replied. 

"  Milady  Di  shall  lose  nothing  that  I  can 
keep  for  her,  M.  d'Oreville — be  very  sure  of 
that.  But  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  on 
that  score.  You  remember  my  words  to  you 
at  Dover?  I  hope  that,  if  your  horse  has  not 
won  the  race  as  yet,  he  is  well  within  reach  of 
the  winning-post?  " 

I  had  not  expected  such  a  question,  and  I 
confess  that  it  filled  me  with  confusion.  What 
was  I  to  say?  What  was  I  to  do?  I  remained 
silent,  vainly  endeavoring  to  find  a  suitable 
reply.  His  Majesty  had  thrown  himself  upon 
a  stone  seat  near  by,  and  sat  there,  surrounded 
by  his  spaniels;  and  Mistress  Nelly,  as  though 
tired  of  the  conversation,  sat  down  on  the  grass 
at  his  feet,  and  began  to  play  with  the  little 
dogs.  I  stood  there  before  them,  tongue-tied 
and  stupid;  and  after  a  moment  or  two  His 


278  THE    SILVER   KEY 

Majesty  lifted  his  black  eyes  sternly  to  my 
face,  with  the  look  which  made  his  harsh  fea- 
tures ten  times  more  ugly  than  Nature  had 
made  them  already. 

"  Oddsfish,  sir,  I  hope  you  have  not  been 
amusing  yourself  at  Milady  Di's  expense,"  he 
said.  "  I  do  not  allow  any  one  to  trifle  with 
her,  I  would  have  you  know.  I  thought  at 
Dover  you  liked  her  well  enough,  or  I  should 
never  have  said  what  I  did  to  you " 

Careless  of  ceremony,  I  interrupted  him. 

"  'Tis  no  question  of  liking,  Sir.  I  think  I 
have  adored  Milady  Di  from  the  moment  I 
saw  her  first,  but— 

His  face  cleared. 

"  You  would  say  that  this  foolish  business 
of  Carewe  stands  in  the  way?  Faith,  she  will 
forget  the  fellow's  existence  in  six  months' 
time.  I  know  these  violent  fancies — they  pass 
quickly.  Indeed  " — he  smiled  a  little — "  I 
protest,  if  it  were  not  betraying  confidences 
from  a  lady,  I  would  swear  'tis  in  the  act  of 
passing  already.  I  need  not  say  more  to  a 
gentleman  of  your  intelligence,  I  hope?  She 
is  my  ward,  M.  d'Oreville,  and  I  am  not  given 


THE   PRIVY    GARDEN         279 

to  half-measures.  You  have  my  best  wishes 
in  the  prosecution  of  your  suit." 

What  was  I  to  say?  I  stood  there,  dumb. 
Mistress  Nelly  left  playing  with  her  spaniels, 
and  looked  up  at  me  in  wonderment.  Then 
suddenly  she  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Faith,  I  think  you  are  taking  your  wares 
to  the  wrong  market.  Sir,"  she  said.  "The 
gentleman  surely  has  some  scruple  in  the 
matter." 

His  Majesty  ruffled  her  brown  curls  as  she 
sat  beside  him,  much  as  he  would  have  patted 
one  of  the  dogs. 

"  I  vow  I  think  he  has,  sweetheart,"  he 
said.  "  You  and  I,  Nelly,  were  not  built  for 
scruples.  We  play  in  the  sun,  and  take  our 
bone  when  'tis  thrown  to  us,  like  Fido  here, 
and  never  vex  our  poor  brains  as  to  whether 
we  have  the  best  right  to  the  bone  or  no.  But 
there  are  others  who  are  wiser — or  shall  we 
say  more  foolish?  They  will  not  take  the 
bone,  for  the  sake  of  these  same  scruples.  They 
sit  and  starve,  with  hungry  eyes  fixed  on  the 
bone — but  they  will  not  take  it.  Fido  here  is 
more  sensible,  and  so  am  I.  'Tis  my  habit 


280  THE    SILVER    KEY 

never  to  refuse  anything  that  comes  my  way, 
in  memory  of  those  days  when  I  had  nothing 
in  the  world  but  a  sore  heart,  and  a  merry 
tongue,  and  very  empty  pockets  indeed.  He 
who  has  once  wanted  bread,  sweetheart,  never 
has  many  scruples  about  a  bone  or  two  in  after 
days.  A  pretty  woman — like  yourself,  Nelly— 
a  bottle  of  good  wine — a  few  thousand  pounds 
from  my  faithful  and  devoted  Parliament — a 
wild  night  with  Buckingham — 'tis  all  one  to 
Old  Rowley.  Oddsfish,  I  dispensed  with  the 
finer  scruples  years  ago,  when  I  found  that 
those  about  me  had  so  few  of  them  that  'twould 
be  mere  waste  to  entertain  them  myself.  And 
so  I  go  my  way,  sweetheart,  and  make  the  best 
of  a  world  which  once  used  me  scurvily 
enough,  and  may  now  do  all  it  can  to  make  me 
amends." 

He  paused,  and  sat  lounging  there  in  the 
sunshine,  petting  the  girl  and  the  spaniels  with 
an  impartial  hand.  I  had  an  uncomfortable 
suspicion  that  he  had  put  me  at  this  disadvan- 
tage for  a  purpose  of  his  own,  but  if  it  were 
so  there  was  no  trace  of  it  in  his  face  or 
manner.  Presently  he  looked  up  again. 


THE   PRIVY   GARDEN         281 

"Take  my'advice,  M.  d'Oreville,"  he  said. 
"I  offer  you  the  bone — take  it,  and  never  vex 
your  head  about  the  rest." 

Should  I  do  so?  For  a  moment  the  temp- 
tation was  almost  too  strong  for  me;  then  I  put 
it  from  me  for  ever. 

"  Your  Majesty's  advice  is  beyond  my  criti- 
cism," I  said,  "but,  if  it  be,  as  I  suppose, 
to  marry  Milady  Diana  Royal — or  at  any 
rate  to  ask  her  to  marry  me — I  cannot  do 
it." 

He  'did  not  answer  for  a  moment. 

"  No?  "  he  said  at  last.  "  'Tis  a  somewhat 
extraordinary  statement.  I  hope  you  are  go- 
ing to  offer  me  some  explanation,  M.  d'Ore- 
ville. You  cannot  marry  Milady  Diana,  the 
most  beautiful  woman  at  Court,  and  one  whom 
a  prince  might  be  proud  to  claim!  You  see, 
I  have  a  high  opinion  of  the  lady  you  are  re- 
jecting, though  it  may  surprise  you  to  learn 
it,  for  beauty  combined  with  virtue  is  not  sup- 
posed to  be  much  to  my  taste — and,  faith,  I 
think  it  is  not,  save  when  the  virtue  is  as  un- 
impeachable as  the  beauty,  and  I  can  fairly 
believe  in  both.  I  should  be  glad  to  hear 


282  THE    SILVER    KEY 

£ 

why  you,  as  it  would  seem,  have  a  lower  vaiue 
for  Milady  Di  than  I  have." 

"  Sir,"  I  cried,  "  on  my  honor,  'tis  not 
that " 

I  broke  off,  not  knowing  how  to  tell  him, 
and  glanced  involuntarily  at  Mistress  Nelly, 
sitting  at  his  feet. 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  you  may  trust 
Nelly,  M.  d'Oreville — she  never  blabs.  I 
would  not  say  as  much  for  any  of  the  others. 
Go  on — I  see  you  have  an  explanation  to  offer, 
after  all." 

And  so  I  told  him  the  story  of  my  extra- 
ordinary first  meeting  with  du  Bac — of  the 
marriage  which  was  perhaps  no  marriage, 
which  yet  seemed  to  bind  me  to  a  woman 
whose  face  I  had  never  seen  clearly,  and  whose 
name  I  did  not  know.  I  told  him  everything, 
as  I  had  never  yet  told  it  to  anyone,  and  he 
sat  there  silent  on  his  stone  bench,  and  listened 
with  an  imperturbable  air,  while  Mistress 
Nell  Gwyn's  pretty  eyes  grew  rounder  every 
moment  with  astonishment. 

"  Why,  I  protest,  Sir,"  she  cried,  when  I 
had  done,  "  'tis  surely " 


THE   PRIVY   GARDEN         283 

He  clapped  his  hand  quickly  over  her 
mouth. 

"Silence,  sweetheart  —  'tis  certainly  a 
strange  tale.  M.  d'Oreville,  I  protest,  were 
this  story  of  yours  a  fabrication,  you  would 
make  your  fortune  as  a  romancer.  Nay,  I 
believe  you;  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  knew 
something  of  this  before.  Forgive  me  for 
having  tried  you  a  little  unfairly — I  wanted 
to  see  what  you  would  do." 

"  But  you  see  now  why  I  cannot  take  your 
Majesty's  advice,  Sir?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  lightly. 

"  Oddsfish,  M.  d'Oreville,  I  vow  your  vir- 
tue is  near  as  terrifying  a  spectacle  as  Milady 
Diana's,"  he  said  good-humoredly.  "  No — 
to  be  frank  with  you,  I  do  not  think  I  see  at 
all.  Who  is  there  that  will  ever  know  about 
this  mysterious  marriage  of  yours?  Nelly 
and  I  will  hold  our  tongues.  Why  should  not 
your  horse  pass  the  winning-post,  all  the 
same?" 

"  You  would  have  me  take  her  with  a  lie  on 
my  lips,  Sir?"  I  asked,  utterly  taken  aback 
by  this  outburst  of  Royal  unscrupulousness. 


284  THE   SILVER   KEY 

"  You  would  have  me  marry  her — if  she 
would  have  me — knowing  that  the  marriage 
was  no  marriage?" 

"Well,  you  would  have  her,  would  you  not, 
marriage  or  no?"  he  said  coolly. 

I  could  only  stare  at  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Sir,"  I  said  at  last,  "  may  I  ask  you  to  be 
good  enough  to  dismiss  me?  Your  Majesty 
is  the  only  man  in  this  kingdom  from  whom  I 
would  suffer  such  a  suggestion  to  be  made  to 
me  with  regard  to  Milady  Diana." 

He  was  not  looking  at  me,  but  at  the  little 
spaniel  nestling  upon  his  knee. 

"You  refuse,  then?"  he  asked,  in  an  un- 
moved tone. 

"  I  refuse,  Sir." 

"Absolutely?  "  he  questioned,  and  smoothed 
the  spaniel's  long  soft  ears  with  his  hand. 

"Absolutely,  Sir." 

He  gave  the  spaniel  a  final  pat  anrd  put  it 
to  the  ground,  and  rose  from  the  stone  bench 
and  stood  before  me,  a  tall,  imposing  figure. 
There  was  an  odd  smile  on  his  harsh,  dark 
face,  and  suddenly  he  took  off  the  plumed 
hat  he  wore,  and  stood  bareheaded  in  the  sun- 


THE   PRIVY   GARDEN         285 

snine,  looking  at  me;  and  both  Mistress  Nelly 
and  myself  regarded  his  attitude  with  undis- 
guised astonishment. 

"Oddsfish,  sir,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "you 
have  given  me  an  opportunity  I  would  not 
have  missed  for  worlds!  'Tis  all  the  more 
charming,  I  vow,  because  I  never  remember 
to  have  had  such  a  chance  before.  Old  Row- 
ley, M.  d'Oreville,  salutes  an  honest  man!" 
and  he  made  me  a  sweeping  bow,  and  sat  down 
again,  and  replaced  the  spaniel  on  his  knee. 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  he  said,  "  for  play- 
ing upon  you.  I  protest,  I  always  liked  you 
— I  think  I  ever  had  a  fellow-kindness  for 
Di's  victims.  And  I  honor  you  for  your 
refusal,  M.  d'Oreville,  with  all  my  heart. 
Faith,  'tis  not  my  own  way  of  doing  things  at 
all,  but  that  makes  no  difference.  I  never  bore 
a  man  malice  yet  for  doing  what  he  thought 
right,  though  it  were  against  my  wishes,  or 
for  speaking  the  truth  to  me,  so  he  did  it  in  a 
gentlemanlike  way,  or  for  telling  me  of  my 
faults  even,  so  he  did  not  expect  me  to  put 
myself  to  the  inconvenience  of  curing  them. 
'Tis  a  fine  day,  and  we  will  ride  to  Hunting- 


286  THE   SILVER  KEY 

ford  House,  and  visit  Milady  Di  in  her  own 
dominions.  I  have  an  appointment  with  a 
gentleman  of  your  acquaintance  there,"  and 
he  signed  to  his  attendants  to  approach,  and 
began,  in  high  good-humor,  to  order  the  ex- 
cursion, and  bid  them  make  ready  horses  at 
once. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  SECRET  IS  BROUGHT  TO  LIGHT 

WE  rode  out  to  Huntingford,  along  the  green 
banks  of  the  river,  and  I  rode  at  His  Majesty's 
side.  He  seemed  in  the  best  of  tempers  with 
me  and  all  the  world,  talked  gaily  of  many 
matters,  pointed  out  the  beauties  of  the  coun- 
try-side through  which  we  passed,  and  es- 
pecially lauded  to  me  the  air  of  Newmarket, 
where,  I  learned,  he  was  wont  to  repair  for 
racing,  coursing,  and  the  like  sports,  and 
where  the  air,  as  he  frequently  remarked  that 
afternoon,  was  the  sweetest  in  all  England. 
He  told  me  he  must  see  me  there,  and  spoke 
of  his  horses,  in  which  he  took  great  interest, 
and  indeed  won  more  than  one  match,  as  I 
heard  afterwards,  by  his  horsemanship,  which 
was  of  the  finest.  He  had  a  great  love  of  all 
outdoor  life  and  every  kind  of  sport,  and  per- 
haps showed  to  better  advantage  on  horse- 
back, or  in  the  tennis  court,  than  he  did  in  the^ 
Council  chamber,  where  his  naturally  fine 

297 


288  THE    SILVER   KEY 

gifts  of  perception  and  intelligence  were 
marred  by  a  certain  indolence  and  impatience 
of  business  which  grew  upon  him  as  years 
went  on.  I  think  he  regarded  all  life  as  a 
kind  of  game ;  if  the  game  did  not  happen  to 
be  to  his  taste,  he  cared  little  to  continue  it. 
His  one  claim  upon  the  world  was,  that  it 
should  permit  him  to  enjoy  himself;  a  check 
to  his  personal  pleasure  or  convenience  was, 
as  far  as  I  could  see,  the  one  misfortune 
which  had  the  power  to  put  him  out  of  hu- 
mor. Indeed,  of  all  human  beings  I  have 
ever  met,  he  struck  me  as  the  one  most  com- 
pact of  the  rarest  abilities  of  mind,  and  the 
most  surprising  levity  of  spirit. 

But  this  afternoon  only  his  more  charming 
aspect  was  visible — and  no  one  ever  knew  bet- 
ter how  to  be  charming  than  King  Charles, 
when  he  chose  to  be  so.  I  had  almost  forgotten 
the  destination  for  which  we  were  bound  when 
we  turned  into  a  noble  avenue  of  oaks,  at  the 
end  of  which  we  saw  the  innumerable  win- 
dows of  the  old  house  blinking  in  the  sun. 

"Ah,  here  is  Huntingford,"  His  Majesty 
said.  "Many  is  the  gallop  I  have  had  up 


SECRET   BROUGHT  TO  LIGHT    289 

this  avenue  as  a  boy,  with  poor  James  Royal 
after  me.  He  fell  at  Edgehill,  M.  d'Oreville 
— Milady  Di's  brother,  and  my  father's  own 
godson — poor  James!  Ah,  England  paid  for 
her  loyalty  to  my  father  as  she  will  never  pay 
for  me  I "  he  added,  with  a  sigh,  and  rode  on 
in  silence  to  the  door  of  Huntingford  House. 

Milady  Di  came  out  to  greet  His  Majesty; 
and  it  was  in  something  of  a  softened  mood, 
I  think,  that  he  dismounted,  and  took  her 
greeting.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 
she  would  have  kissed  his  hands,  but  he  pre- 
vented her. 

"  Nay,  Di,"  he  said,  "  'tis  my  place  to  kiss 
hands  here — this  is  your  kingdom,  in  which 
Charles  Stuart  is  always  eager  to  proclaim 
himself  the  first  and  most  faithful  of  your  sub- 
jects. I  know  what  you  would  say,"  he  added, 
in  a  graver  tone.  "  The  blow  meant  for  you 
fell  on  a  head  dearer  still  to  me,  and  you 
would  ask  my  pardon  for  what  is  no  fault  of 
yours.  Spare  us  both,  dear  Di — we  wear  the 
same  sad  livery,"  and  he  glanced  at  his  own 
purple  suit,  and  at  the  mourning  dress  she 
wore. 


290  THE   SILVER   KEY 

"  Your  Majesty  may  be  gracious  enough  to 
forgive  me,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  tears,  "  but  I  shall  never  forgive  myself 
for  having  been,  however  indirectly,  the  cause 
of  Her  Highness's  death." 

"  Minette  would  be  the  last  to  have  you 
think  thus,"  he  answered  very  kindly,  "  and 
the  first  to  wish  you  never  to  make  her  memory 
a  cause  of  unhappiness  to  yourself.  She  was 
incapable  of  an  unkind  thought  since  the  days 
when  'twas  her  greatest  delight  to  choose  a 
feather  or  a  jewel  for  her  ugly  big  brother — 
my  dear  little  sister,  who  loved  me  so  well." 
He  broke  off,  and  then  gave  Milady  Di  his 
hand.  "  Come — enough  of  this.  We  have 
business  to  do,"  he  said,  returning  to  his  usual 
light  tone,  though  with  an  effort.  "  Let  my 
gentlemen  taste  your  wine  in.  private,  Di — 
the  business  I  speak  of  concerns  us  alone.  M. 
d'Oreville,  attend  me,"  and  I  followed  them 
through  the  great  hall  to  a  room  beyond, 
where  Milady  Di's  tapestry  work  stood  by  her 
chair  in  the  window. 

"  Faith,  this  is  like  the  old  days,  when  your 
brother  James  was  alive,  and  before  ever  you 


SECRET   BROUGHT  TO  LIGHT   291 

were  born,  or  thought  of,"  the  King  said,  look- 
ing around  him,  "  and  your  mother — she  was 
near  as  pretty  as  you,  or  so  I  used  to  think  her 
—sat  in  that  chair,  with  her  tapestry  at  her 
knee,  until  we  plagued  her  into  a  romp  with 
us,  which  we  very  often  did.  .  .  .  And  the 
old  fool  de  Chevron  thinks  I  will  let  him  take 
Huntingford  from  you!  We  shall  see — we 
shall  see.  Is  he  arrived  here  yet,  Di?" 

"Your  Majesty  commanded  him  here?" 
she  asked,  in  surprise. 

"  I  did,  and  he  should  be  here  by  now, 
unless  he  has  the  impertinence  to  keep  me 
waiting.  There  is  a  horse  coming  up  the  ave- 
nue now — I  imagine  'tis  the  Due." 

It  was,  for  a  few  moments  later  he  entered 
the  room,  looking  more  venomously  rattish 
than  ever.  The  King  had  made  Milady  Di 
resume  her  chair,  and  he  stood  a  little  behind 
her,  leaning  on  its  high  back  with  the  air  of 
a  man  very  much  at  his  ease.  He  gave  M.  de 
Chevron  a  very  brief  nod  in  response  to  his 
elaborate  salutation. 

"  You  have  desired  an  audience  with  me 
for  some  time,  M.  le  Due,"  he  said.  "I 


292  THE   SILVER   KEY 

thought  I  would  give  you  your  opportunity 
to-day.  I  trust  you  have  collected  all  your 
evidence  in  the  case  of  the  Huntingford 
estates?" 

The  Due  bowed  uneasily. 

"  My  evidence  is  complete,  Sir." 

"  JTis  fortunate,  for  so  is  mine,"  the  King 
said,  in  his  most  careless  tone;  and  picked  up 
a  skein  of  Milady  Di's  silk,  and  drew  it  back 
and  forth  through  his  ringers  as  he  spoke. 
"  I  am  here  to  listen  to  everything  you  have 
to  say — pray  begin." 

"  After  your  Majesty " 

"  Nay,  sir;  are  you  not  the  stranger  within 
my  gates?  I  owe  you  the  courtesy  of  a  first 
hearing,"  His  Majesty  replied,  with,  I 
thought,  somewhat  ironical  politeness.  "You 
are  too  modest,  I  vow — 'tis  unbecoming  one  of 
your  age  and  quality.  Let  us  hear  you,  M. 
le  Due,  without  further  delay." 

The  little  man  shot  an  odd  glance  at  me. 

"  Your  Majesty  is  too  gracious,"  he  began. 
"  By  the  terms  of  my  Lord  Huntingford's  will 
the  estates  of  his  elder  daughter,  Milady 
Diana,  who  inherited  Huntingford,  as  your 


SECRET   BROUGHT  TO  LIGHT   293 

Majesty  knows,  were  to  remain  hers  on  the 
condition  that  she  did  not,  as  her  father  feared, 
enter  into  an  imprudent  marriage  with  a  man 
distasteful  to  him." 

"  Master  Robin  Carewe,  son  of  my  old 
friend  Sir  Thomas,"  commented  the  King, 
coolly.  "  Yes,  sir — go  on." 

"  Master  Robin  Carewe's  name  is  expressly 
stated  in  the  will,  Sir.  My  claim  is  that  on 
the  night  of  the  ist  of  November  last  Milady 
Diana  Royal  was  secretly  married  to  Robin 
Carewe  in  the  chapel  of  my  Chateau  at  Chev- 
ron. I  can  produce  the  priest  who  performed 
the  marriage,  and  the  waiting-woman  who  at- 
tended Milady  Diana  Royal  to  the  altar." 

His  Majesty  seemed  vastly  interested  in  the 
colored  silk  with  which  he  was  playing. 

"  Can  you  indeed?  "  he  said.  "  I  protest,  it 
surprises  me  to  hear  it.  The  priest — the  wait- 
ing-woman. Doubtless,  as  you  are  so  well 
provided  with  witnesses,  M.  le  Due,  you  can 
produce  the  bridegroom  as  well?" 

"  The  bridegroom,  Sir,  was  killed  in  a 
brawl  that  same  night  at  Cailly,  on  the  road 
back  to  Paris." 


294  THE   SILVER   KEY 

"  I  fear  my  Lord  of  Huntingford's  objec- 
tions to  his  son-in-law  were  well  founded," 
the  King  said  gravely.  "  To  spend  his  wed- 
ding-night getting  killed  at  Cailly — oddsfish, 
the  man  had  no  sense!  Well,  then,  M.  le 
Due,  you  cannot  produce  the  bridegroom,  it 
seems.  Have  you  any  other  witness?  " 

The  little  Due  pointed,  with  a  sudden 
dramatic  movement,  to  Milady  Di,  sitting 
white  and  silent  in  her  chair. 

"  I  have  one,  Sir,"  he  said,  "  and  she  sits 
there.  I  put  it  to  Milady  Diana  on  her 
'honor  whether  it  is  worthy  of  her  to  keep  her 
patrimony  by  a  lie." 

Milady  Di  sprang  in  an  instant  to  her  feet; 
and  the  King,  a  black  frown  on  his  face, 
looked  up  from  the  wisp  of  silk. 

"  Be  careful  of  your  words,  sir,"  he  said 
sternly.  "  No  Fighting  Royal  shall  be  ac- 
cused of  dishonor  in  my  presence.  Milady 
Diana,  I  will  not  have  you  answer  him  against 
your  will." 

Milady  Di's  eyes  were  afire  with  anger,  and 
her  lip  trembled. 

"  Nay,  Sir,  he  has  laid  it  on  my;  honor  to 


SECRET   BROUGHT   TO   LIGHT    295 

answer  him,"  she  said.  "  I  must  answer  the 
charge,  and  would  have  done  so  before  but 
for  your  Majesty's  express  command.  I  have 
told  you  everything — I  am  ready  to  tell  every- 
thing now." 

A  curious  smile  passed  quickly  over  the 
King's  face. 

"Tell  it,  then,"  he  said.  "  Tell— every- 
thing." 

She  stood  motionless  for  a  moment,  and 
drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  Sir — your  Majesty,"  she  said,"  I  admit  the 
charge.  On  the  ist  of  November  last  I  mar- 
ried Master  Robin  Carewe.  I  have  nothing 
more  to  say." 

I  saw  an  expression  of  the  most  intense  sat- 
isfaction, mingled  with  an  almost  comic 
amazement,  dawn  upon  the  Due's  face.  His 
Majesty,  however,  remained  imperturbable  as 
ever. 

"  You  are  sure  of  it,  Di?  "  he  said.  "You 
are  quite  certain  that  you  made  no  mis- 
take?" 

She  turned  upon  him  quickly. 

"  Mistake,  Sir?    What  mistake  could  there 


296  THE   SILVER   KEY 

be?  It  was  all  arranged — the  matter  was 
entirely  between  Master  Carewe  and  my- 
self." " 

His  Majesty's  black  head  was  bent  over  the 
skein  of  silk.  He  did  not  look  up. 

"  You  saw  it  was  Carewe  you  married,  no 
doubt?"  he  said,  in  the  same  tone.  "You 
spoke  with  him — you  saw  his  face.  Did  you 
not,  Di?  " 

"  It  was  dark,  Sir,  and  he  wore  a  mask, 
as  was  his  custom;  but  I  heard  him  speak." 

The  King  nodded  slowly. 

"He  wore  a  mask — it  was  dark;  but  you 
heard  him  speak.  'Twould  be  indiscreet,  I 
suppose,  to  inquire  what  he  said?  " 

"  He  said  little,  Sir — there  was  no  time  for 
conversation,  for  we  were  afraid  of  being  sur- 
prised." 

"  And  he  left  you  at  the  chapel  door,  and 
you  never  saw  him  again,"  His  Majesty  re- 
marked thoughtfully.  "  A  very  singular  mar- 
riage, on  my  honor  1" 

"The  whole  matter,  Sir,"  ventured  the 
triumphant  Due,  "  seems  to  me  to  be  very  sin- 
gular indeed." 


SECRET   BROUGHT   TO   LIGHT   297 

The  King  did  not  seem  to  hear  this  remark. 

"  Faith,  it  sounds  like  a  romance,"  he  said. 
"  Well,  M.  le  Due,  I  have  heard  your  story, 
and  you  have  heard  Milady  Di's." 

"  I  hope  your  Majesty  agrees  with  me,"  the 
little  Due  replied  glibly,  "  that  the  evidence 
is  now  complete." 

The  King  left  leaning  on  the  back  of  the 
chair,  and  straightened  his  tall  figure  out,  as 
though  weary  of  the  indolent  posture  he  had 
hitherto  adopted. 

"  Nay,  sir — not  so  quickly,  if  you  please," 
he  said.  "  I  have  heard  your  story,  and  you 
have  heard  Milady  Di's;  but  the  evidence  is 
not  complete,  for  you  have  not  yet  heard 


mine." 


Both  made,  I  thought,  a  movement  of  as- 
tonishment; and  I  wondered  what  possible 
piece  of  testimony  His  Majesty  was  about  to 
bring  forward. 

"Yours,  Sir?" 

"  Mine,  M.  le  Due;  for  I  am  ready  to  swear 
to  you — yes,  and  prove  it  too — that  Master 
Carewe  never  entered  the  chapel  at  Chevron 
on  the  night  of  the  ist  of  November  at  all — 


298  THE   SILVER   KEY 

and  that  he  never  married  Milady  Diana,  be- 
ing a  dead  man,  indeed,  before  that  ceremony 
was  ever  performed." 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  Milady  Di  and 
the  Due  with  a  certain  cynical  amusement  at 
their  confusion.  Then  he  went  on. 

"  'Twas  not  your  fault,  M.  le  Due — I  quite 
understand  that.  You  and  my  old  acquaint- 
ance, du  Bac,  had  planned  your  game  very 
well.  A  marriage  with  Robin  Carewe  would 
lose  Di  the  Huntingford  estates,  and  Robin, 
Carewe  knew  that  as  well  as  you  did.  It  was 
for  that  reason  that  you  mixed  him  up  in  a 
treasonous  correspondence  with  some  of  my 
enemies  whom  we  will  not  mention  here." 
The  Due  turned  suddenly  very  pale,  and  His 
Majesty's  amusement  appeared  to  increase. 
"  When  you  had  him  well  in  your  power,  you 
dragged  him  into  the  marriage  as  the  only 
price  of  your  silence.  You  even  went  so  far 
as  to  threaten  him  with  betrayal  to  me  if  he 
did  not  do  your  will.  He  consented.  He 
implored  Di  to  marry  him  secretly,  and  she 
agreed.  He  came  on  the  night  of  the  day  you 
name  to  the  inn  at  Chevron- Savary,  and  met 


SECRET   BROUGHT   TO   LIGHT    299 

du  Bac,  your  agent,  at  this  inn — the  sign  of 
the  Golden  Horse." 

For  an  instant  I  thought  my  senses  were 
deserting  me.  The  room  whirled  round  me. 
Oh,  I  understood  everything  now!  .  .  .  With 
a  desperate  effort  I  forced  myself  to  stand 
silent,  to  hear  and  understand  what  the  King 
said. 

"But  there,  sir,  your  schemes  miscarried. 
There  was  a  gentleman  at  the  inn — and  Robin 
Carewe  had  been  celebrating  his  approaching 
marriage."  He  smiled  contemptuously.  "  You 
should  have  chosen  a  stronger  tool,  M.  le  Due. 
Robin  Carewe  insulted  the  stranger,  who  drew 
upon  him  and  killed  him — killed  him  with- 
out meaning  to  do  it,  betrayed  into  a  deadly 
thrust  by  the  other's  drunken  fury." 

He  stopped,  as  though  to  recover  breath. 
Milady  Di  gave  a  little,  frightened  cry. 

"Sir—  Sir—  I" 

He  checked  her  by  a  look. 

"  There  was  an  end  of  your  fine  scheme,  M. 
le  Due,"  he  said.  "  Or,  I  should  have  said, 
there  would  have  been  its  end  but  for  the  in- 
genuity of  Mynheer  Haerling,  otherwise  du 


300  THE   SILVER   KEY 

'Bac.  He  had  no  mind  to  lose  the  game  with- 
out a  last  struggle.  He  invited  the  stranger 
to  supper,  struck  by  a  likeness  to  the  dead  man 
which  he  imagined  might  be  used  to  his  own 
advantage.  He  drugged  him,  or  at  any  rate 
stupefied  him  with  some  of  his  devilish  pow- 
ders or  essences.  Haerling  had  always  some- 
thing of  the  devil  in  his  character — he  had  a 
power  over  men  which  had  in  it  something 
unnatural.  He  mastered  the  gentleman  by 
this  power — he  sent  him  in  Carewe's  place  to 
the  chapel;  and,  in  Carewe's  place,  he  mar- 
ried Milady  Diana." 

The  Due  stood  pale  and  speechless. 

"  Sir,"  he  stammered  at  last,  "  you  expect 
me  to — to  believe  this?  " 

"  No,  M.  le  Due — I  do  not  expect  you  to 
believe  it,"  His  Majesty  returned  with  cold 
irony.  "  Oddsfish,  I  imagine  you  will  not 
care  to  accuse  me  of  lying?  " 

The  Due  was  silent.  In  spite  of  the  re- 
buke, I  thought  he  did  not  seem  much  con- 
vinced of  the  truth  of  what  he  had  heard. 

"  Your  Majesty  must  be  aware/'  he  said  at 
last,  "  that,  to  enable  Milady  Diana  to  refute 


SECRET   BROUGHT   TO   LIGHT   301 

my  claim  on  her  estates,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
bring  some  proof  forward.  Milady  Diana 
says  she  married  Robin  Carewe — your  Ma- 
jesty affirms  that  it  was  not  Robin  Carewe 
that  she  married.  In  that  case,  I  must  ask 
you,  Sir,  who  it  was?  " 

I  hardly  knew  the  impulse  which  moved 
me — I  hardly  understood  what  I  did,  so  great 
was  the  turmoil  in  my  mind ;  but  I  stepped  in 
front  of  Milady  Di — in  front  of  the  King. 

"  M.  le  Due,  it  was  II"!  said. 

There  was  a  moment  of  breathless  silence. 
Even  the  Due  did  not  seem  able  to  speak — I 
think  I  was  the  very  last  witness  he  expected. 
And  then,  behind  me,  I  heard  Milady;  Di's 
voice. 

"You  killed  Robin!"  she  cried.  "You— 
M.  d'Oreville,  you!"  And  the  cry  broke  in 
a  sob,  and  I  heard  His  Majesty  say,  "  Hush, 
sweetheart!  "  very  kindly.  Another  moment, 
and  he  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  put 
me  gently  aside. 

"  I  hope  the  evidence  satisfies  you,  M.  le 
Due?  "  he  said. 

But  the  little  old  man's  evil,  waxen  face 


302  THE  SILVER  KEY 

was  livid  with  passion  and  disappointment. 
He  turned  spitefully  on  the  tall  figure  facing 
him  with  its  air  of  regal  good-humor  and 
disdain. 

"  No,  Sir,"  he  snapped.  "  It  does  not  sat- 
isfy me.  I  ask  for  proof — for  proof!  This 
gentleman's  word — your  Majesty's  declara- 
tions— are  not  proofs,  but  assertions.  What 
proof  have  you  that  this  amazing  story  is 
true?" 

For  a  moment  even  the  King  seemed  to 
hesitate ;  and  then  a  thought  came  to  me,  and 
I  spoke  quickly. 

"  I  have  proof,  M.  le  Due!  When  I  left 
Milady  Diana  at  the  chapel  door,  she  gave  me 
a  token — a  token  which  I  have  never  under- 
stood, but  which  I  have  always  kept,  in  hope 
that  by  its  means  the  mystery  might  be  cleared 
up.  I  have  it  now — perhaps  Milady  Diana 
can  tell  you  what  it  was." 

Milady  Di  started — the  King  made  a  sud- 
den movement  of  relief. 

"Produce  it,  M.  d'Oreville,"  he  said. 
"  Oddsfish,  Di,  he  has  saved  Huntingford  for 
you,  after  all,  and  not  II" 


SECRET   BROUGHT   TO   LIGHT   303 

I  stepped  forward,  and  laid  on  the  table 
before  them  all  the  key  with  the  heart-shaped 
top,  which  Charles  Fichet  had  found  in  my 
pocket  after  that  strange  midnight  adventure 
at  Chevron-Savary.  It  lay  there,  winking  in 
the  July  sunshine,  as  it  had  winked  on  that 
November  morning  when  I  had  seen  it  first 
at  Oreville;  and  the  sight  of  it  affected  the 
three  persons  who  were  looking  at  me  in  a 
manner  which  seemed  to  me  nothing  short  of 
miraculous.  In  a  moment  all  the  triumph, 
and  all  hope  of  triumph,  died  out  of  the  little 
Due's  face;  Milady  Diana  gave  one  look  at 
the  little  silver  thing,  and  then  sank  down  in 
the  great  chair,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands ; 
but  the  King  went  up  to  the  table,  and  took 
the  heart-shaped  key  in  his  hand  and  held  it 
up  before  us  all. 

1  You  have  doubted  a  King's  word  to-day," 
he  said.  "You,  who  dared  to  plan  with  my 
own  subjects  against  me — you  who  dared  to 
plan  the  murder  of  Milady  Diana  for  your 
own  ends — you,  through  whose  evil  designs  a 
King's  daughter  has  come  to  her  death!"  His 
face  changed,  and  grew  dark  and  harsh,  so 


304  THE   SILVER   KEY 

that  one  could  hardly  have  recognized  it;  his 
voice  shook  with  sudden,  ungovernable  anger. 
"You  are  no  subject  of  mine,  M.  le  Due,  or 
your  life  should  pay  for  hers,  however  little 
you  meant  her  ill.  But  go — go,  before  even 
my  good  temper  deserts  me.  You  have  asked 
for  proof  of  my  word — you  have  it.  You 
know  that  Milady  Diana  would  have  given 
this  to  no  one  but  the  man  she  married — and 
the  man  stands  there  1" 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  HEART  GATE  OF  HUNTINGFORD 

THE  summer  waned,  and  still  I  lingered  in 
London,  chained  there  by  the  dictates  of  my 
own  heart  as  much  as  the  command  of  a  King; 
and  still  I  strove  to  escape  from  the  tyranny 
of  both  and  return  to  Paris,  but  all  in  vain. 
His  Majesty  kept  me  at  his  elbow,  dragged  me 
to  Newmarket — where  I  soon  wearied  vastly 
of  the  air  of  which  he  professed  himself  so 
fond — to  Winchester — to  Hampton.  I  think 
I  could  have  enjoyed  myself  well  enough,  but 
for  the  memory  of  Milady  Di's  face  in  the 
window  of  Huntingford  House  as  I  laid  the 
silver  key  on  the  table — of  Milady  Di's  voice 
behind  me,  crying  "You  killed  Robin — 
you!  "  with  an  accent  of  accusation  which  was 
oddly  like  despair.  I  had  never  seen  her 
since  that  eventful  day;  she  remained  at  Hunt- 
ingford, hidden  from  all  the  world,  aloof  from 

305 


306  THE   SILVER   KEY 

everyone,  save  indeed  the  King,  who  invited 
himself  now  and  then  to  see  her,  and  came 
back  always  with  a  graver  face  than  usual,  and 
was  more  than  ordinarily  gracious  afterwards 
to  me — by  which  I  guessed  that  his  expedition 
had  been  made  in  vain.  I  wrote  to  her  again 
and  again,  but  no  reply  ever  came  to  me;  I 
rode  out  to  Huntingford,  but  she  would  not 
see  me:  and  I  begged  His  Majesty  to  dismiss 
me,  and  let  me  return  to  Paris. 

"  What,  you  are  tired  of  Whitehall?  "  was 
his  invariable  response.  "  I  vow,  your  taste 
is  deplorable,  M.  d'Oreville.  Let  us  have  a 
game  of  tennis  to-morrow  morning,  and  we 
will  decide  the  day  of  departure."  But  to- 
morrow, and  the  tennis,  came,  and  my  depar- 
ture was  as  undecided  as  before. 

"  You  are  impatient,"  he  would  say,  on  an- 
other occasion.  "  Faith,  I  will  lend  you  a 
regiment  of  horse  to  carry  her  off  with,  if 
you  like.  Rochester,  you  have  passed  your 
apprenticeship  in  that  business — come  and 
give  M.  d'Oreville  a  lesson." 

"  I  protest,  Sir,  I  shall  be  most  happy.  I 
will  carry  off  Milady  Di  myself,  if  your 


307 

Majesty  and  M.  d'Oreville  will  give  me 
permission,"  my  Lord  Rochester  responded 
politely. 

"  No,  no,  we  will  neither  of  us  trust  you 
with  Milady  Di,"  His  Majesty  said,  laugh- 
ing. "  Come,  M.  d'Oreville,  you  must  go  to 
the  meeting  at  Newmarket  next  week — you 
cannot  miss  that." 

I  confess  that  my  patience  gave  way  at  last, 
and  I  chafed  ungratefully  in  this  agreeable 
imprisonment.  What  was  the  use  of  remain- 
ing longer  in  London?  I  was  unfortunately 
married  to  a  woman  who  hated  me  for  killing 
the  man  she  preferred  to  myself — the  hatred 
was  natural,  and  I  could  not  wonder  at  it, 
though  Heaven  knows,  I  had  been  innocent 
enough  of  any  intention  to  kill  him.  Alain 
had  long  gone  back  to  Paris,  railing  loudly 
at  the  hardheartedness  of  his  favorite  cousin, 
and  had  since  found  other  matters  to  occupy 
him  there;  for  the  Due's  heir  had  died  sud- 
denly, and  Alain  found  himself  in  his  old 
position  again,  and,  the  old  man  following  the 
child  within  a  few  weeks — the  blow  having 
been  too  much  for  him,  coming,  as  it  did,  so 


308  THE   SILVER   KEY 

soon  after  his  other  great  disappointment  over 
the  Huntingford  estates — Alain  found  enougl 
honors  and  titles  to  keep  him  busy  for  a  while. 
When  I  next  heard  of  him,  it  was  in  a  new 
capacity  altogether. 

"  There  has  been  a  great  sensation  here,"  he 
wrote.  "  You  remember  Marguerite,  about 
whom  you  teased  me  so,  and  whom  Di  left 
with  Mademoiselle  de  Keroualle?  Well,  du 
Bac's  papers  have  been  brought  to  light,  and 
that  old  harridan  of  the  Rue  Gabrielle  has 
confessed  that  the  girl  was  not  her  daughter 
at  all,  as  I  always  swore  she  was  not,  but  my 
uncle's  daughter — you  remember  his  second 
marriage  turned  out  near  as  ill  as  his  third, 
and  a  child  was  stolen  away  and  no  one  heard 
of  it  again?  It  seems  that  du  Bac  was  in  that 
piece  of  villainy,  as  I  think  he  has  been  in 
every  other  piece  since  the  world  began.  So 
the  little  waiting-girl  is  my  cousin,  the  most 
high,  noble  and  illustrious  Renee-Marguerite- 
Claude-Marie  de  Chevron,  and  there  has  been 
a  mighty  stir  here  about  it;  and  the  King  com- 
manded her  to  Court,  and  she  came,  looking 
so  pretty;  that  all  the  great  ladies  are.  in  love 


GATE   OF    HUNTINGFORD    309 

with  her,  and,  faith,  more  of  the  great  lords 
than  is  at  all  agreeable  to  me.  And  you  may 
tell  Di  that  since  she  had  the  bad  taste  to 
marry  Carewe,  or  you — I  am  never  quite  clear 
which  it  was — she  must  not  be  jealous  if  I 
confer  the  inestimable  treasures  of  my  hand 
and  heart  on  the  said  Renee- Marguerite;  and 
you  must  not  laugh  at  me,  Herve,  for  indeed 
I  was  always  a  little  in  love  with  her,  and  if 
you  saw  her  now,  you  would  admit  that  she  is 
the  prettiest  thing  at  Court,  and  I  shall  be 
mighty  lucky  if  she  does  not  turn  up  her 
charming  little  nose  at  me." 

That  Renee-Marguerite-Claude-Marie  de 
Chevron  did  not  turn  up  her  charming  little 
nose  I  was  assured  by  a  letter  received  a  few 
weeks  later — Alain  never  delayed  matters 
long — which  invited  me  to  come  to  the 
wedding. 

"  And,  since  you  chose  to  celebrate  your 
own  in  such  an  odd  manner,"  my  young 
friend  wrote  light-heartedly,  "  I  intend  to 
have  pomp  and  state  enough  at  my  marriage 
to  serve  for  us  both;  so  over  you  are  to  come, 
and  a  plague  on  King  Charles!  I  hear  the 


310  THE   SILVER   KEY 

Keroualle  is  to  go  to  Whitehall — I  told  you 
so,  you  will  remember,  at  Dover.  I  hope  she 
will  lead  Old  Rowley  a  pretty  dance.  But 
my  immediate  need  is  your  presence,  for 
there  are  a  hundred  things  to  be  done  at 
Chevron  which  I  know  nothing  about;  and 
pray  bring  Di — I  hope  she  has  forgiven  you 
by  this  time  for  killing  that  pestilent  fellow, 
and  that  you  are  both  as  happy  as  Marguerite 
and  I  mean  to  be." 

I  did  not  see  much  prospect  of  happiness 
before  me,  nor  much  chance  of  attending 
Alain's  wedding;  but  I  went  at  last  to  the 
King,  and  made  one  more  determined  effort 
to  escape.  It  was  in  the  Privy  Garden  at 
Hampton  that  he  saw  me,  as  he  had  done  on 
that  summer  day  after  Madame's  death;  but 
the  leaves  were  yellow  now,  and  the  flowers 
were  dying,  for  it  was  the  end  of  October  and 
the  summer  was  done.  His  Majesty  was 
without  his  dogs,  and  Mistress  Nell  Gwyn 
presumably  found  the  day  too  cold  to  venture 
forth,  for  she  was  not  present,  but  only  His 
Grace  of  Monmouth  and  the  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham, all  intent  upon  a  plan  of  the  new. 


GATE   OF   HUNTINGFORD    311 

bowling-green  which  the  King  had  designed 
near  by. 

"  Ah,  here  is  the  importunate  one  again,"  f 
His  Majesty  said.  "James,  take  an  example 
by  M.  d'Oreville,  and  if  you  want  anything 
of  me,  go  on  plaguing  me  until  you  get  it, 
as  he  is  doing.  Faith,  he  has  gauged  the 
weakness  of  my  character  to  a  nicety — I 
never  could  endure  being  worried.  Well,  sir, 
what  is  it  now?  Do  you  want  a  regiment  of 
horse  to  carry  off  your  wife,  or  my  permis- 
sion to  leave  her  once  for  all  and  retire  to 
Paris?" 

"  I  wish  for  your  permission  to  go  to  Paris, 
your  Majesty." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  thought  so — I  thought  so!  See  what  a 
hurry  he  is  in!  Because  the  best  fruit  in  the 
orchard  does  not  fall  into  his  mouth,  he  is  off 
in  a  pet.  It  not  Milady  Di  worth  waiting 
for?" 

"  Have  I  not  waited,  Sir?"  I  said  sadly. 

He  dropped  his  bantering  tone  at  once. 

"  Faith,  I  think  you  have,  and  so  have  I. 
But  unless  you  adopt  my  Lord  Rochester's 


312  THE    SILVER    KEY 

method  of  wooing,  I  know  not  what  is  to  be 
done.  I  dare  say  she  would  relent — I  vow, 
I  think  the  ladies  like  being  run  away  with — 
eh,  James?  " 

"  They  like  being  run  after,  if  that  is  what 
your  Majesty  means,"  His  Grace  responded 
languidly. 

The  King  laughed. 

"  'Tis  much  the  same  thing  in  the  end, 
James.  Well,  M.  d'Oreville,  give  me  three 
days  more — only  three.  I  will  make  a  last 
effort  to  untangle  your  affairs." 

"There  is  only  one  way  of  untangling 
them,  I  fear,  Sir,"  I  said.  "  The  marriage 
might  be  proved  illegal,  and  Milady  Di  set 
free." 

"Unfortunately,  'tis  but  too  damnably 
legal,  I  find,"  the  King  replied.  "  I  had  that 
in  my  mind  as  well  as  you.  No — you  are 
married,  and  married  you  must  remain,  like 
the  rest  of  us,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh. 
"  'Tis  soon  over,  and  plaguey  hard  to  undo." 

"  But  some  of  us  bear  our  responsibilities 
lightly,  Sir,"  His  Grace  of  Buckingham  sug- 
gested, with  a  covert  smile. 


GATE    OF    HUNTINGFORD    313 

"Meaning  me,  George,  I  suppose?  Oh, 
I  have  had  much  practice  in  hearing  hard 
things  lightly,"  His  Majesty  said  good- 
humoredly.  "  A  little  misfortune  like  mar- 
riage does  not  weigh  upon  my  spirits  as  it 
does  upon  those  of  M.  d'Oreville  here." 

"  But  'tis  most  depressing  when  one  hap- 
pens to  be  in  love  with  one's  wife,  as  he  is," 
His  Grace  of  Monmouth  sighed.  "  I  vow, 
I  think  Milady  Di  might  take  pity  upon  a 
poor  fellow  in  such  an  unusual  and  distress- 
ing situation." 

"  Go  and  plan  your  bowling-green,  and 
leave  M.  d'Oreville  and  me  to  manage  our 
own  affairs,  James,"  said  the  King;  "and 
take  George  with  you — he  is  the  greatest  gos- 
sip at  Court.  .  .  .  Now,  M.  d'Oreville,  will 
you  grant  me  three  days'  grace?" 

"  You  are  too  kind,  Sir.  If  I  thought  three 
days,  or  thirty  days,  would  make  the  slightest 
difference  to  her " 

"  Oddsfish,  you  never  know  what  will 
make  a  difference  with  a  woman.  If  you  had 
taken  my  advice,  and  the  troop  of  horse,  she 
would  have  been  ready  to  lie  down  and  be 


314  THE    SILVER    KEY 

trodden  on  by  you  by  now.  'Tis  your 
plaguey  romantic,  high-minded  notions  that 
have  stood  in  the  way  of  everything." 

"  I  wrote  to  her,  Sir,  and 

"Wrote  to  her!    Well,  and  what  then?" 

"  She  never  answered  my  letters." 

"  Did  she  not  indeed?  What  else  did  you 
"do?" 

"  I  went  to  Huntingford,  Sir,  but  the  doors 
were  shut  against  me." 

"And  you  went  meekly  away,  I  warrant?  " 

"What  else  could  I  do?" 

"You  should  have  broken  the  doors  in— 
for  what  else  were  doors  put  upon  their 
hinges,  I  would  like  to  know? "  he  asked 
gaily.  "  I  protest,  M.  d'Oreville,  you  seem  to 
have  very  modest,  maidenlike  ways  of  mak- 
ing love — no  wonder  you  have  such  ill  suc- 
cess. Now  I  am  going  to  see  whether  I 
cannot  make  love  for  you  rather  better  than 
you  seem  to  be  able  to  manage  it  yourself." 

"  But,  Sir,  I  would  not  for  the  world  have 
the  slightest  compulsion  put  upon  Milady 
Diana's  feelings,"  I  said  hastily. 

"  You  may  trust  me  to  do  nothing  that  is 


GATE    OF    HUNTINGFORD    315 

not  for  Milady  Diana's  happiness,  M.  d'Ore- 
ville.  I  owe  her  house  too  much  to  trifle  with 
her  good.  Three  days,  then?  Very  well.  I 
am  obliged  to  you — I  will  see  if  I  cannot 
break  in  Milady  Diana's  doors." 

So  for  three  days  I  went  away  and  waited, 
without  much  hope,  though  I  knew  that  King 
Charles  had  more  than  usual  interest  with 
Milady  Di.  The  three  days  were  all  but 
passed  when  I  received  a  little  note  which 
reminded  me  rather  painfully  of  those 
Milady  Di  had  shown  me  in  the  happy  days 
of  Saint-Germain  and  the  Palais  Royal. 

"  Ride  with  me  at  eight  of  the  clock  at 
Hampton  to-morrow  morning,"  it  said,  in  the 
well-known  hand.  "  I  have  a  fancy  to  wist 
you  many  happy  returns  of  a  day  you  re- 
member. 

"  C.  R." 

A  day  I  rememberedl  I  started,  as  I  stood 
there  with  the  King's  note  in  my  hand,  for 
to-morrow  was  the  first  of  November — a  day 
which  indeed  I  remembered  but  too  well. 


316  THE    SILVER    KEY 

So  at  eight  of  the  clock  I  was  at  the  tennis 
"Kmrt  at  Hampton,  where  the  King  always 
repaired  as  soon  as  it  was  light.  He  was  fin- 
ishing a  game,  in  which  my  Lord  of  Buck- 
ingham seemed  to  be  getting  badly  beaten, 
and  when  it  was  done  he  looked  round  and 
saw  me. 

"  That  is  enough  for  this  morning, 
George,"  he  said.  "  You  see  I  am  taking  my 
usual  physic  of  tennis,  M.  d'Oreville — 'tis  the 
only  kind  I  could  ever  endure.  You  are 
punctual  to  the  minute,  and  the  horses  are 
waiting.  Let  us  be  off." 

To  my  surprise,  I  found  that  the  horses 
in  waiting  were  but  two;  and  His  Majesty 
laughed  a  little  at  my  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  you  are  to  be  my  escort,"  he  said. 
"  'Tis  an  uncomfortable  honor,  no  doubt, 
but  we  are  safe  enough.  I  have  not  yet 
wished  you  happy  returns  of  to-day." 

"  Your  Majesty  is  too  kind,  but  I  fear  the 
happiness  is  far  off." 

"  We  will  see  about  that.  What  possessed 
you  to  choose  such  a  dismal  anniversary  for 
your  wedding?  Faith,  'twas  certain  your 


affairs  would  go  astray.  'Tis  the  Day  of  the 
Dead — the  Jour  des  Morts,"  he  added  in  a 
graver  tone,  "  and  I  think  that  is  why  I  am 
riding  out  with  you  now,  for  I  fancy  it  would 
please  my  poor  Minette  to  see  her  graceless 
brother  trying  to  do  a  good  action,  in  memory 
of  her.  Do  you  think  so,  M.  d'Oreville?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,  Sir,  with  all  my  heart,"  I 
answered,  for  the  idea  somehow  touched  me, 
coming  from  the  cynical  lips  of  Old  Rowley, 
to  whom  so  few  things  were  sacred. 

"  And  so  do  I — and  I  vow  the  morning  is 
perfect;  it  makes  even  a  good  action  pleasant 
to  perform,"  he  said,  glancing  at  the  blue  sky 
above  us,  clear  as  the  sky  of  June,  and  the 
gold  and  red  leaves  shining  splendidly  upon 
every  hanging  bough.  "  The  air  is  like  a 
draught  of  wine,  M.  d'Oreville — let  us  have 
a  gallop  to  the  end  of  the  lane ; "  and  he  set 
off,  swinging  in  his  saddle  as  lightly  as  a  boy, 
with  the  plume  of  his  great  feathered  hat 
afloat  behind  him. 

So  we  galloped  to  the  end  of  the  lane  and 
up  another,  and  came  at  last  to  a  great  iron 
gate,  looking  through  which  we  saw  a  long 


318  THE    SILVER    KEY 

avenue  overgrown  with  grass,  on  which  the 
golden  autumn  leaves  lay  scattered  like  sleep- 
ing flames.  And  His  Majesty  drew  rein  and 
sprang  to  the  ground. 

"  Here  we  are,  safely  arrived,  M.  d'Ore- 
ville.  This  is  a  fine  gate,  I  protest." 

"  It  is  locked,"  I  said,  trying  it. 

He  laughed  softly  and  leaned  against  his 
horse,  looking  at  me  with  quizzical  eyes. 

"  Faith,  yes — 'tis  locked,"  he  said.  "  Look 
at  it — do  you  see  anything  singular  about  it?  " 

I  followed  the  direction  of  his  glance,  and 
saw  that  in  the  middle  of  the  gate  the  iron- 
work took  the  form  of  a  heart,  surmounted 
by  a  shield  bearing  the  Huntingford  arms; 
and  I  think  my  own  heart  gave  something  of 
a  bound,  in  spite  of  my  despondency. 

"  'Tis  the  famous  Heart  Gate  of  Hunting- 
ford,"  His  Majesty  said.  "  You  never  heard 
of  it? — I  thought  as  much,  when  you  showed 
M.  de  Chevron  the  token  which  sent  him 
away  like  a  whipt  cur.  'Tis  a  fashion  in  the 
house  of  Royal,  and  a  pretty  one,  as  I  dare 
swear  you  will  say.  This  gate  is  never 
opened  save  on  the  wedding-day  of  the  head 


GATE    OF    HUNTINGFORD    319 

of  the  house,  when  he  leads  his  bride  across 
it  for  the  first  time;  and  the  key  Diana  gave 
you  that  night  is  the  only  one  that  will 
open  it." 

"  She  did  not  give  it  to  me  in  intention, 
Sir,"  I  reminded  him,  "but  to  Robin 
Carewe." 

"  As  the  head  of  the  house,  and  the  last  of 
the  Fighting  Royals,"  he  answered,  "  she  gave 
you  the  key  of  the  Heart  Gate  of  Hunting- 
ford  on  her  wedding-day.  'Tis  your  wed- 
ding-day to-day,  M.  d'Oreville — the  Day  of 
the  Dead  no  more,  but  the  Day  of  the  Living. 
Here  comes  Di  to  tell  you  so." 

I  turned  quickly.  A  sound  of  a  horse  gal- 
loping came  down  the  lane  by  which  we  had 
reached  the  gate;  and  Milady  Di  cantered 
up,  the  white  plumes  nodding  in  her  riding- 
hat,  as  I  remembered  them  a  year  ago — more 
beautiful  than  ever,  I  thought,  as  she  smiled 
at  King  Charles. 

"A  thousand  good-morrows,  Di,"  he  said, 
and  helped  her  from  her  horse — it  was  the 
chestnut  she  had  ridden  the  first  time  I  met 
her — while  I  stood  by,  doubtful  of  what  to 


320  THE    SILVER    KEY 

do.  "  Why,  you  have  put  up  the  white  flag 
at  last,"  he  added,  laughing,  with  a  glance 
at  her  feathers.  "  I  thought  the  Fighting 
Royals  never  surrendered?  " 

She  looked  up  at  me,  and  her  eyes  were 
soft  and  smiling,  and  the  color  flashed  into 
her  face;  and  then  her  hazel  eyes  were  hid- 
den again  under  their  long  lashes,  and  she 
folded  her  hands  with  a  pretty  air  of 
submission. 

"Nay,  Sir,"  she  said,  very  low,  "even  the 
Fighting  Royals  must  surrender — to  the 
King." 

"  Ah,  I  said  I  would  break  in  upon  you," 
he  answered,  smiling.  "  But  I  am  not  the 
King  to  whom  you  surrender,  Di — I  think 
he  is  a  little  sovereign  who  carries  a  bow  and 
arrow  instead  of  a  crown.  And  have  you 
forgiven  M.  d'Oreville  at  last?  " 

"  It  is  for  M.  d'Oreville  to  forgive  me, 
your  Majesty,"  she  said — and  the  words 
struck  me  dumb,  so  that  I  was  glad  the  King 
answered  for  me. 

"  M.  d'Oreville  is  but  too  forgiving,  Di — I 
vow  I  fear  you  will  be  a  sad  tyrant.  And 


GATE    OF    HUNTINGFORD    321 

now,  since  you  are  friends  again,  let  us  open 
the  Heart  Gate." 

She  turned  to  me,  shyly,  as  a  child  might 
have  done — the  Huntress  Diana,  the  proud 
beauty  whom  I  had  never  known  in  so  soft- 
ened a  mood — and  held  out  her  hand  to  me; 
and  in  it  was  the  Silver  Key  which  was  the 
proof  of  our  strange  marriage  of  a  year  ago. 

I  took  the  key  and  her  hand  together,  and 
kissed  the  latter,  in  spite  of  the  King's  amused 
smile;  but  when  I  would  have  turned  to  the 
gate,  he  took  the  key  out  of  my  hand. 

"  Nay,  Di — nay,  d'Oreville,  my  friend," 
he  said.  "  We  will  break  the  old  usage  for 
once  for  luck's  sake,"  and  he  fitted  the  key  in 
the  lock  and  threw  the  gate  wide;  and  as  he 
did  so  we  heard  the  sound  of  bells,  coming, 
soft  and  sweet,  from  Hampton  and  Hunting- 
ford,  like  a  voice  bidding  us  welcome  home; 
and  His  Majesty  turned  from  the  gate,  and 
came  to  Milady  Di  where  she  stood  beside 
me,  and  took  off  his  great  plumed  hat,  and 
bent  and  kissed  her  cheek. 

"  Listen  to  the  bells  that  wish  you  joy,  and 
let  me  be  the  first  to  put  their  message  into 


THE    SILVER    KEY 


words,  Di,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  know  why 
they  are  ringing?  'Tis  because  there  is  a 
Countess  of  Huntingford  again,  as  there  used 
to  be  ere  the  Fighting  Royals  lost  their  heir 
at  Edgehill.  .  .  .  Nay,  sweetheart,  you  must 
take  my  wedding-gift,  and  with  it  the  wish 
that  as  long  as  a  Stuart  sits  on  the  throne  of 
England  he  may  have  a  Fighting  Royal  by 
his  side  to  keep  him  there.  We  are  old 
friends,  Di.  Without  your  father  and  his 
like  I  should  never  have  come  back  to  my 
kingdom;  and  'twas  for  that  I  bade  you  let 
me  open  the  Heart  Gate  just  now,  that  the 
hand  of  the  sovereign  for  whose  sake  you 
have  lost  so  much  should  be  the  hand  that 
should  open  for  you  the  door  of  happiness  — 
the  little  gate  of  the  heart,  that  opens  with  a 
Silver  Key." 


THE   END 


A     000  101  889 


